Asylum
by RobinRocks
Summary: Part 1 of my Promises and Prophecies trilogy. Set in Season 2, Robin discovers he has a part to play in an Azarathian prophecy of his own, one involving Slade and the Titans... Rated M for adult themes. Part 2, Black Magic, now up. COMPLETE
1. The Prophecy

Ok, let's try this again; previously I put _Asylum_ on here before, and to my dismay people didn't take very well to it (dwindling hits, zero reviews…). But I know why – it was too bloody _long_. Every chapter was huge, and I put the first six chapters on all at once. It was far too overbearing, and people don't like that. So I deleted the original _Asylum_ from and revised it, so now I offer this result. I've cut chapters in half to condense it, make it easier to read, and at the moment I will only put on the first chapter and see how people respond. That said, _this_ chapter is still its original length, because I can't cut it in half. _Please_ don't judge my entire trilogy on this because it is so long.

One thing I have to point out though; I wrote two other fan-fics before this, but I lost them. I'm not going to explain them all, but there are a few notes you should take heed of, lest you get confused; in my TT fan-fic domain, Raven and Robin have previously been in a relationship, sleeping together once, but split on uneasy terms when Robin made out with Starfire; the Teen Titans have come into contact with Batman, Poison Ivy, the Joker, the Riddler, Harley Quinn and Johnny Rancid. Robin and Bats are on good terms; the Joker, the Riddler and Johnny are in Arkham; Harley escaped (Robin let her go) and Poison Ivy is dead, a result of trying to kill Robin.

Ok, just bear that in mind. If anything confuses you in the duration of this, stick it on the review page and I'll make a point of explaining it in the next chapter.

Enjoy. And **review** if you want to read the next chapter.

The Prophecy

It was a pattern. Run, leap, and then run again along this endless path crafted entirely out of rooftops. Almost like flying, with one small glitch; if he slipped and fell he would plummet to a certain death.

The thought almost made him smile.

He landed heavily yet expertly on another flat roof and paused, getting his bearings, then sprung from it like a cat and freefell to the street below. He landed, stood up and smiled. He had reached his destination.

Far above him towered the huge building, built from white Bath stone, with massive Greek-style stone pillars supporting the gothic roof that jutted outwards several feet from the rest of the building. Wide marble steps lead up to the double doorway and he ascended them with the grace of a king entering his court, coming to halt at the large mounted bronze plaque to the right of the vast mahogany doors. He traced his gloved fingers along the deep-set inscribed letters.

_Jump City Museum_.

He took his hand from the smooth metal and turned to the doors, reaching out with one hand and trying one of the large brass handles for luck.

Locked.

_Duh_…

Well, he had hardly been expecting it to be open. There were so many notorious thieves knocking about this city. The museum attendants couldn't possibly run the risk of leaving the building open for anyone who felt like a late-night visit to the mummy section.

Or any of the other sections. For various reasons.

He went to his belt and rifled through the leather pouches until he found a screwdriver. Moving to the electronic lock system to the right of the doorway, he examined it briefly; it required a card and a combination of numbers.

He loosened the screws one by one and prised the protective plastic box off using the edge of the tool, letting it fall to the ground and revealing the technological intricacies within. He put the screwdriver away and instead took from his belt a small pair of pliers, then turned his attention to three tiny wires that connected the circuit.

_Roses are red, violets are blue…_

He chose neither and instead severed the green one. A faint bleeping noise was issued as the system died, followed by a light _click_ that told him that the lock on the doors had been released, allowing him access. He replaced his pliers and sauntered over to the doors, swinging them both open dramatically and entering the museum, leaving the city night outside where it belonged.

The doors shut heavily behind him and the first thing he noticed was how dark it was; the second thing he noticed was the alternating laser force-field that was sweeping in luminous blue rays across the dark marble floor. He side-stepped as it cut through where his right ankle had been a mere second before, looking around for the control box. He found it less than four feet away from him.

_Idiots_…

He easily avoided two more lasers and made it to the plastic box, plunging back into his belt for his tools. He dislocated this one as he had the previous, this time faced with the choice of two wires; black and yellow. He guillotined the yellow and there was a faint buzzing noise as the force-field was disabled and the security went down, casting the large entrance hall in which he stood into complete darkness. He replaced his tools and instead retrieved a small penlight, which he flicked on. The narrow beam lit up a surprising amount of the room and he cast his gaze around, taking it in. The floor was highly polished black marble, streaked with white like lightning in a stormy sky, and right down the middle from the doorway to the first corridor was a wide stretch of thick red carpet. To his left was a huge brass billboard with all of the wings and exhibits inscribed upon it; to his right was a circular reception desk made from glass housing all kinds of leaflets advertising all that both Jump and Gotham had to offer and several black cordless phones. He moved to the billboard and ran both his gaze and the beam of his penlight over it.

He had no idea where it would be.

Art, perhaps? Definitely not dinosaurs or Egyptians…

Thinking about it, it probably would have been more sensible to bring a couple dozen of his robotic mercenaries, but the thought hadn't occurred to him and now he was here alone, so…

He wasn't getting anywhere by just standing here. He abruptly turned away from the billboard and sauntered off down the middle of the red carpet, striding as though it had been laid for him and for him alone.

45 minutes later found him wandering through the dinosaur exhibition anyway. He was certainly not in the best of moods, having come up, so far, empty-handed. He flickered the penlight around, more out of boredom than anything else, casting alternating light and shadow across the titan skulls of extinct carnivorous beings such as the mighty _Tyrannosaurus Rex_. Unless he was expecting it to be hidden between the thing's pointed teeth, he was definitely in the wrong place.

He left the dinosaurs to gather dust and stepped into another dark hallway. He was beginning to get very impatient and sincerely hoped he would find it soon. He continued down the long stretch of corridor, noticing it was lined with metal doors that were shut and locked, some of them with multiple bolts.

Vaults.

He was obviously getting close, but the thing could be in any of these rooms, and he didn't have all night. He decided to go to the end of the corridor, double back and try out each room one by one, hoping he got lucky. It took a lot more than multiple bolts to stop _him_.

He reached the end of the corridor and found it to be a dead end. Instead there was one last door, made of thick, heavy metal. No bolts, but with another of those blasted circuit boxes, and on the door it read "NO ENTRY TO ALL VISITORS WITHOUT A MUSEUM EMPLOYEE".

He smiled, realising he'd found what he was looking for.

He went through the regular motions, disabling the security system, and swung the door outwards. Immediately he saw the red laser grid a few inches from the floor, tight-knitted and denying him entry. He frowned, then looked to the side and saw a switch that read "LASER GRID: ON/OFF".

_And again; idiots_…

He flipped the switch and the laser grid died, allowing him to step in triumphantly. He moved his penlight around the dark room; it was tiny compared to the vast wings the museum flaunted, only about 15 square metres in area. But that was unimportant because right in the middle…

He stepped towards it, the beam of the penlight fixated firmly upon it, reflecting off the glass case that it was encased in. He stopped and ran the penlight along the tiny bronze plaque beneath it's case, his fingers following the letters.

_THE ORB OF AZARATH._

He frowned slightly. _Azarath_… that word sounded so familiar… where had he heard it before?...

He shrugged. It was of little importance; he had found what he was looking for.

He had read of it a few days back on his regularly updating news archives; it had been sent to Jump from Blüdhaven "on loan". More like someone had tried to steal it back there too.

_Well, finders keepers_…

The article, from Jump's leading daily newspaper, had provided an account, sensationalised as was the usual practice, of the Orb of Azarath and of the "mysterious powers" it was supposed to possess. Scientists and geology experts had looked over it and said that it appeared to be a rock and little else, and that any legends surrounding the thing were indeed legends.

But something had struck him about it, even just from the blurred colour picture from the paper, in which it appeared to be a rock. There was something that compelled him to it, ignited the belief that he had to have it and would therefore obtain it by any means necessary. So here he was, and here _it_ was, with only a thin sheet of glass to separate them.

"Rock", however, was an understatement. Even if it _didn't_ possess any kind of power, it was certainly amazing to just look at. The orb itself was a small stone ball, about the size of a small tangerine, perfectly smooth and highly polished, and appeared to be made out of some variety of ebony black marble on first sight. But then, when you looked at it more closely, you could see the ripples of brilliant blues and purples and even faint reds dashed through it like wounds, and they flowed beneath the surface of the stone like moving water; it glittered with an unknown force like a tiny universe unto itself alight with billions and billions of stars. The orb rested in a gothically ornate silver cradle of intricate design, not possibly replicable by even the most skilled of metallic designers, and in the frontal centre of the twisted, carved metal was a small prism-like inset, as though something was supposed to fit into it. Whether it possessed its promised power or not, it was far more than just a rock; that much was obvious.

He didn't know exactly what he was going to do with it; all he knew was that he wanted it very badly, he _needed _it… It compelled him, transfixed him, called to him. His hand rested on the glass case that contained it and he wanted to reach right through the clear material and grasp what he saw to be rightfully his. Silence surrounded him and darkness enveloped the room, the only light the beam from his penlight and the soft glittering aura that the orb itself seemed to give out.

Finally he could no longer take the insatiable wanting for it, and with a single fluid movement he smashed the case, showering a cascade of broken glass to the floor like rain. He waited until silence reigned again before reaching out to take it. His hand paused mere centimetres from it and he flexed his fingers, creasing the black leather of his glove. He couldn't quite bring himself to pick it up; he wanted it so badly and he wasn't going to walk out of here without it, but he still felt a slight apprehension as he gazed fixedly at it. He shook his head and flicked his fingers again, then moved in to claim his prize…

"Mr Slade?"

Slade stopped dead in his tracks, his fingers now so close to the orb they were almost touching it. Almost.

"Mr Slade…"

He didn't turn around but heard the speaker move a little way into the room. He continued to stare at the orb but clenched his fist, still not in possession of his prize.

"I wouldn't pick that up if I were you."

"But you're _not_ me, are you?" Slade stated softly, still not turning around. Better not to make any sudden moves; for all he knew, his mysterious new "friend" could have a gun aimed at his back. "So… who are you?"

"For the moment, that is not important."

"Isn't it?" Slade laughed softly and finally turned towards his addressor, shining his penlight over their form. He immediately saw them to be… well, not what he had expected.

An old woman stood before him, frail and her spine hunched with age. She carried a stick and was leaning on it dependently, but she was hardly the grandma-type. Long iron-coloured hair hung in straggled rats-tails down her back, she wore a garishly patterned shawl thrown over her shoulders, and several strings of coloured glass and plastic beads decorated her wrinkled neck. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green, however, and they bore fixedly and determinedly into his single grey one. There was glint in them that surprised him.

Definitely not the grandma-type.

"And you would be…?" Slade prompted her, raising his eyebrows beneath his mask.

"I have already stated that it is not important for the moment," the old woman said.

"Oh, it's _very_ important," Slade corrected softly. "For all I know you could be someone here to stop me, or to vie against me for possession of the orb."

"I have no interest in the orb, Mr Slade," the old woman assured him blandly. Slade's single grey eye narrowed.

"Indeed." Slade's expression didn't change. "And yet you follow me here in the middle of the night with my name on your lips. You'll forgive me if I'm a little suspicious."

"Rightfully so, my boy," the old woman murmured. "But I pose no threat to you."

"Then what do you want?" Slade pressed lethally. The old woman stepped towards him again.

"I am a seer, Mr Slade," she explained, "and I come to you tonight bearing a prophecy."

"Yes, well, I'm in the middle of something right now, in case you hadn't noticed…" Slade dismissed her and reached behind him for the orb.

"Mr Slade, do not touch that orb until you have heard me out," the seer warned. "The prophecy that I have foreseen involves the Orb of Azarath and you may want to know of its true potential before you go messing about with it."

Slade stopped; her words had piqued his interest.

"Fine," he said eventually. He glanced behind him at the glittering orb. It wasn't going anywhere and he really didn't know anything about it, so what did he have to lose by listening to her?

"The Orb of Azarath," she started quietly, "is an item of mystery that has plagued scientists, geologists and historians alike for the short time it has been in this world. However, I am able to reveal to you that the legends that surround it are true, but also very, very vague. The orb is in fact a vessel bearing titanic power that is both awesome and terrible. This power can only, however, be harnessed by one of a certain Chosen Few, a handful of mortals from this world that were born for the sole purpose of fulfilling the prophecy mapped out at the time of the orb's birth and controlling the power of the orb. These Chosen Few will not be born into the same time fracture, and so one could live many centuries before the next. So far none have taken the opportunity to get what they rightfully deserve. None except _you_, for you are one of the Chosen Few, Mr Slade, and you alone in this world are able to take the power of the orb in hand and use it for your own measures."

She looked briefly at Slade, who was simply watching her, not uttering a sound. She took this as a cue to continue;

"Perhaps you wonder how I know that you are one those born for this purpose?"

Slade nodded slightly but still said nothing.

"As I have already informed you, I am a seer. Mostly I receive visions through scrying, but every so often the gods of prophecy will come to me with a vision not called upon. A few nights ago I was plagued with one such vision, strange infused images that I could not make sense of, but at the end I was subjected to a trance in which I saw a yellowed roll of parchment hidden deep within the bowels of the castle in which I reside. When I awoke I went in search of the mysterious piece of paper and found it exactly where I had envisioned it. I had no idea of its existence before that, but I took it up to my chambers and discovered it to be a prophecy concerning the legendary Orb of Azarath…"

At this point she reached beneath her shawl and pulled out the crumpled roll of parchment which she spoke of. It was tied with a piece of thin leather cord and was yellowed with substantial age. She offered to it to him and he hesitated, then took it from her and loosened the cord. He unrolled it and scanned down it, his cold grey eye taking in the script. Then it narrowed dangerously.

"I can't read this," he snapped, flicking it aggressively with his free hand. "It's in some strange language…"

"Well, of course you can't read it," the seer said smugly. Slade glared at her.

"Then why did you give it to me!" He demanded, his temper starting to go.

"It's _your_ prophecy," the seer informed him. "It involves you. It was written about you many centuries ago."

Slade glanced at it again, as though he thought it would all suddenly make sense. It didn't.

"Can _you_ read it!"

"Well, of course I can," the old woman replied haughtily.

"Then tell me what it says!" Slade ordered, tossing it back at her.

"Be careful with it!" The seer told him sharply. She caught it and smoothed it out carefully. "In brief it states that the power of the Orb of Azarath shall be harnessed by one of the Chosen Few and the apocalypse shall be at the command of the summoner after the fulfilment of the prophecy. However, one known as the Avenger shall arise from the flames of destruction and prevent the reckoning unless he is so destroyed following the tainting of the soul. The tainting shall destroy the bind which the Avenger holds between the world as it is and the world as it will be, and in turn after his subsequent death the mortal gods shall be rendered powerless and the world will be at war."

Slade blinked and stared at her.

"An avenger… and the apocalypse and… mortal gods?..." He frowned, for once in his life genuinely confused. The seer held up her hand to silence him.

"I have not finished," she told him. "There is more to the Orb of Azarath than that. _Far _more."

"_More_ to it that the apocalypse?"

"There is a great deal of legend surrounding that little stone ball. It was created hundreds of years ago in a dimension beyond our own, a peaceful place known as Azarath. Azarath still exists today and it is a world built on peace, love and compassion. It does not indulge in the hectic lifestyle which the people of Earth do, and so for this reason there is no evil in Azarath. No crime, no murder, no corruption; there is no-one like _you_ in Azarath, Mr Slade…"

"You flatter me," Slade murmured. The old woman raised her eyebrows.

"Indeed. However, Azarath was not always this way. Many centuries ago it was a place torn apart by destruction and fire and blood. The people of Azarath, the Azarathians, lived in constant fear, for the world was ruled by terrible monsters. These terrible beasts were colossal in size and fed on flesh, but often enjoyed killing the Azarathians for fun. They destroyed towns and villages in one blow, picked off whole hunting parties. But the worst of these monsters were their terrible powers. They were creatures of elemental destruction, one fire, one earth, one water and so on. The Azarathians were powerless to stop them. That was, until Arella came."

Slade frowned.

"Arella?"

"She was a queen of many worlds over, a warrior goddess who supported the same ideals as the superheroes of today; truth, peace, love and justice. She heard the cries of Azarath and came to its aid with her army of Warriors of the Sky, and she cut down the monsters, saving Azarath from its plight. She destroyed them as they had destroyed Azarath, but before she sent them to a flaming oblivion she tore their powers from their beings and encased them all within a small stone orb that was christened the "Orb of Azarath". Arella stayed in Azarath with her warriors for many years, ruling it as queen and slowly transforming it into the peaceful civilisation it is today. Her Warriors of the Sky settled down too and interbred with the people of Azarath, and so the Azarathians today are descendants of centuries of cross-breeding between their ancestors and Arella's warriors."

"What happened to Arella?" Slade asked, somewhat curious. "Witch pop it?"

The seer shook her head.

"Arella is a goddess. She does not age and die the way we mortals do. She stayed in Azarath for a century, maybe longer, ruling it, but eventually she left and moved on to liberate some other planet or dimension in need of her help. Her warriors, however, stayed in Azarath. The Orb of Azarath always stayed at Arella's side while she was queen, so that she could keep an eye on it and make sure that the power of the demons did not fall into the wrong hands. However, when she left Azarath, she left the orb behind too, and it stayed in the palace of Azarath since then. Azarath is not ruled by a monarch now, but by a senate, an organisation of high-bred officials that govern Azarath how they feel it should be run. It was their decision to send the Orb of Azarath away from its home-world."

"But why?" Of course, he was glad it was here and not in some alternate dimension, but it still made little sense to him.

"Because two years ago a powerful evil came to Azarath to claim it, and to claim its power. The Azarathians were able to hold it off but it vowed to return, and so the Azarathian Senate decided it would be better if the orb was sent away from Azarath, to somewhere where the evil would not find it. It was sent to Earth to take up the promise of the many super-powered beings that this world has to offer, in hope that they would protect the orb if the evil, or in fact _any_ evil, tried to claim its power. Superman, the Justice League…"

_The Teen Titans_…

"It came to Earth in the possession of a messenger, an empathic misfit in the world of Azarath and the daughter of one of the senate council and a terrible demon. She brought the orb to Metropolis first, but since then it has been moved around to keep it from the public eye, Gotham to Blüdhaven and now to Jump. Meanwhile, the messenger met up with other teenagers in the same boat as her; societal misfits wielding abnormal powers. She befriended them and used her telekinetic powers to fight crime instead of wasting it on the Azarathian practice of mediation. She never transcended this plane and remains here still with her friends. Her name, Mr Slade, is Raven."

His single eye widened slightly. That was where he had heard the word "Azarath" uttered before; that little witch said it in battle as part of her spell to summon her powers.

_How convenient…_

"She resides now on the very outskirts of Jump City, part of the teenage super-group known as-"

"The Teen Titans," Slade finished irritably. "I _know_."

The old woman smirked.

"And I know you know."

Slade scowled.

"Then why-?"

"They give you a hard time, if I'm not much mistaken?" She continued smugly. His scowl deepened.

"Did you come here for the sole purpose of patronising me?" He asked dangerously. He clenched his fist. "Do not anger me or you will sorely regret it."

The seer's green eyes flashed lethally.

"Don't you threaten me, boy," she snapped, the edge in her voice even more dangerous than his. "I am perfectly aware that you know of the Teen Titans. I know that they are the bane of your plans, always there, and always one step ahead… While you have threatened their lives and their city many a time, they still prevail. And why is that, Mr Slade? Are you able to tell me?"

Slade was silent for a few seconds, then simply shook his head.

"Because they are the mortal gods of which the prophecy speaks. The Teen Titans, and every other superhero that stalks the crime-riddled streets of this city, and Gotham, and Metropolis… Superman, Batman, the Justice League, Wonder Woman… Only after the death of the Avenger shall they perish, their powers being torn from them as were the powers torn from the Azarathian monsters by Arella many centuries ago. As long as you fulfil the prophecy, the Titans will no longer be of any threat to you."

Slade raised his eyebrows beneath his mask.

"And what must I do to fulfil the prophecy?" He asked, his voice soft.

"You must kill the Avenger," the seer said simply. "And also, a key must be possessed to unlock the orb's true potential. If you look, you can see that small inset into the cradle; following a summoning ritual, the key must be inserted and the power shall be unleashed unto its bearer."

Slade nodded slightly.

"Simple enough," he said, a trace of sarcasm evident in his voice. "Except for a few slight glitches; I have no idea who this "Avenger" is supposed to be, so how am I meant to kill him? Or her?... And this key? Where am I supposed to find it, and I also have no idea what you mean by a summoning ritual-"

"And here I am," the seer interrupted softly. "At your service. I can answer many of your questions, if you would care to ask them."

"Fine." Slade folded his arms lazily. "We'll start with the key, if you're so clever."

"That, admittedly, I am unable to answer. _Yet_." She added the last word as she sensed his amusement fading at her incompetence. "When the time is right, I am sure I will foresee where the key lies and it shall be brought to you. Do not trouble yourself with such a trivial issue for the time being, Mr Slade. The key alone will not unleash the power of the orb."

"Alright then. The Avenger."

"Well, as it happens, there is scant information in the prophecy itself about this certain individual," the seer informed him, unrolling the prophecy again and scanning down it quickly. "Yes, here we are… it's not much…"

"Well?" Slade prompted.

"Mortal… and male… age is uncertain, but young… mid-teens, I should think…"

Slade stared at her as she continued to read down the crumpled parchment. He had this horrible, ominous feeling…

"Anything else?" He demanded.

"No… wait, yes… just a little line here at the bottom, I can't read it too well… "The soul of the Avenger shall be a dark match, a two-of-a-kind bond, with the one which he is trying to stop"…"

_Well, that synchs it..._

"Let me see that," he ordered, holding out his hand. The seer eyed him sceptically over the top of it.

"You can't read it," she reminded him witheringly. Slade frowned, realised that she was right, and shrugged and withdrew his hand.

"Is there anything else?" He asked desperately. "Hair colour, anything…"

The old woman looked at him as though he was mad.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but no prophecy that I have ever come across has ever been that specific."

Slade frowned and looked at the floor. It was specific enough… and yet, was it even possible?... Of all the millions of people in the world, the one who would stop him would be…?

"They mean something to you then?"

Slade looked up.

"What?"

"Those little clues. Do you have any idea who the Avenger might be?"

Slade almost smiled.

"Oh, yes. I have a _very_ good idea who he could be…"

_Robin_.

And how sodding _typical_… After all, what were the chances…? But it was him, it had to be. Mortal male, mid-teens, similar in nature to the one he was trying to stop? It couldn't be anyone else…

"The boy…"

Slade raised an eyebrow behind his mask.

"You know? Then why didn't you tell me straight off, instead of playing about with me?"

"I thought that it would be better for you to work it out for yourself," the seer replied sweetly. "And you did."

"And it's really him?" Slade asked sceptically. "Seriously, of all the people in the world, it's _him?_"

The seer shrugged half-heartedly.

"Small world. I don't know why you're complaining; this makes it very easy for you. He practically lives next door to you, and I am aware that you and he have… certain _issues_ that tend to be a little sore on his part."

_You mean blackmail, corruption and threatening the lives of his friends_…

"So," Slade said carefully. "I have to kill him?"

"I'm afraid so. The Batman's child must be destroyed."

"Batman's child?"

"You have heard of the Batman of Gotham City, presumably?"

Slade nodded slightly.

"Your little Avenger is his son, of sorts. A highly prized protégé, at any rate. It is from the Batman that the boy's fighting expertise originates."

Slade nodded slightly. Yes, Robin was very good. But not quite good enough, not strong enough, not ruthless enough. Killing him would not be an easy task, granted, but it would be far from impossible.

"There is more to it than his death, though, I'm afraid," the seer went on. "According to the prophecy there are two circumstances under which he must die. I believe I mentioned the tainting of the soul?"

Slade frowned.

"Yes, I think you did…"

The old woman nodded.

"However, I did not properly explain what was meant by it. In short, the Avenger's soul must be pure for the bind connecting his mortal flesh to that of the mortal gods' to be unbreakable, so that even if he should die, they will still reign with their powers and shall follow in his stead to prevent the reckoning. It has long since been stated that the ultimate symbol of purity is virginity; therefore, for the bond to be severed and the prophecy to be fulfilled, the Avenger must not be a virgin at the time of his death, for the tainting has been rendered as sexual."

Slade blinked.

"And?..."

The seer shrugged.

"Well, it is possible that this may not be a problem," she stated primly. "You must take into account that our little Avenger is a male teenager, therefore no doubt following the rest of his kind and having an unfortunate hormonal imbalance. In this day and age I suppose it is unlikely that he is innocent in that way."

"And the second instance is…?" Slade prompted flatly; he had little to no interest in what his teen arch-nemesis got up to after dark. The seer returned his bored gaze.

"You don't seem interested in the _first_ instance," she acknowledged. Slade shrugged.

"Why would I be? I don't care what he does in that little "T"; whether they all dance the salsa is of no interest to me."

"All factors must be taken into account, whether you are interested in them or not."

"Well, _you know all_," Slade said bitterly. "Is he or isn't he?"

"I don't know."

"You know everything else." Slade frowned, suddenly extremely suspicious of her. It seemed to him as though she was playing another of her little mind games with him.

"I don't know that."

Slade raised an eyebrow.

"And if he _is_ still a virgin?"

"Then you do something about it."

"And if he isn't…"

"Then it isn't your problem."

"Hmm." Slade studied her carefully. She seemed in earnest of helping him, but he didn't trust her. There was something about her that gave him – _him_ – the creeps, and that was saying a lot.

"So what do you expect me to do about it, if he _is_ still one?"

The seer clicked her tongue in exasperation.

"I don't know; use your imagination."

Slade shuddered.

_No thanks_…

"The second instance?" He repeated, dismissing the first irritably; he was really getting rather bored with it.

"Ah. _That_." The seer unrolled the parchment once again. "It is scribed here that you must be aided in his destruction by another."

"Another?" Slade eyed her sceptically. "That "another" wouldn't happen to be _you_, would it?"

"Alas, no," the old woman replied wistfully. "It is a specific other, much like the Avenger himself in the sense that you must first discover his identity to enlist his help."

Slade folded his arms languidly.

"_Excellent_." His voice dripped with sarcasm and the seer sensed it. "_Another_ Titan involved in this prophecy, hmm? Because that's going to be a hard bargain-"

"If you will be quiet, I will finish," the seer interjected irritably. "No, it is not one of his friends. _Far_ from it."

"Then you know who it is?"

"Indeed I do."

The seer smirked at him and he scowled; she was fooling about with him again and he didn't like it. Some of this disdain spawned from his typical villainous arrogance that no-one should dare to stand before him and not cower in awe and fear; but some of it was something else entirely. She didn't _scare_ him; he could break her in two if he so wished. But there was an almost magical aura about her, something not quite human and something definitely evil. She did not fear him, but addressed him – most of the time – with utmost respect, as though she admired him; but then she also mocked him, and in a way that showed she thought nothing of him, calling him "boy" as though she saw him as little more than a child despite the fact that he was quite obviously far from this assumption. She was certainly controlling, demanding of him, and yet he did not resent her orders, maybe because somehow she had seen to it that he was unable to object. He had a feeling that he would do whatever she told him to, and not just because he wanted the Orb of Azarath's promised power.

"Would you care to share the information with me?" He asked softly.

"I will. You are going to have to make a little road-trip, however."

"Indeed. To where?"

"Not far. How does a jaunt to Gotham City sound to you?"

"Delightful."

There was a sarcastic edge to everything they said, particularly on his part.

He frowned at her.

"This doesn't involve that Batman, does it?"

The seer laughed quietly.

"No, no… dear me, that _would_ be interesting…"

"Well?" He was growing impatient and she seemed to realise it.

"In Gotham City there lies a place of evil, as though Hell had erupted through the very pavements and kept going, up and up, until there was bred the madhouse of which I speak. Within it's wall are concealed some of the most dangerous and notorious criminals ever to walk the streets of the United States of America; some man, some monster, all out of place in society for the simple reason that they should be condemned to Hell forevermore."

"Sounds like a right house of fun," Slade murmured dryly.

"I daresay _you_ would find it so," the seer agreed flatly. "I refer, of course, to the infamous Arkham Asylum. You have heard of it, I presume?"

"Me and everyone else six states over."

"Well, your partner resides there. The most twisted, vicious and insane inmate in there, I should think. And you are in luck; he has only been back there a few weeks. The security in Arkham is weak; he keeps getting out, along with many others..."

"So I get to rub shoulders with a madman? _Brilliant_…"

"_You're_ a madman," the seer reminded him expressionlessly. "I daresay you belong in Arkham Asylum with the rest of them…"

"You're too kind."

"_Someone's_ got to compliment you. Now then, my boy; your first move is to find the one of which I speak within the bowels of Arkham Asylum and persuade him to join your campaign. I can assure you he will be interested."

Slade was surprised.

"Does he know Robin?"

"Does he ever. And he loathes him almost as much as you do."

"So what am I supposed to do; go around Arkham Asylum asking who hates some teenage superhero from Jump City until I find the guy?"

"Many of them will know him and hate him, I expect; he and Batman are something of infamous celebrities in Gotham. And you are wrong in saying that the boy is from Jump; he originates from Gotham City in the first place."

"Then why didn't he _stay_ there?" Slade asked bitterly, the question rhetorical.

"Be glad he didn't; it makes the prophecy all the easier for you. Besides, the one for which you search will be easy enough to find; he will be the only one in that whole cursed pit of hell who is smiling."

Slade was vaguely amused.

"If it's so terrible, why should he be smiling?"

The seer's expression darkened and she looked beyond the man she addressed at the glittering Orb of Azarath.

"He cannot stop. They call him "The Man with the Permanent Smile"…"

Ok, how was that? I know it's very long and confusing, but hopefully also captivating?...

_Cue tumbleweed…_

Well, nobody reviewed _last_ time; make my day, huh? Seriously, if you want to read more, review, otherwise I won't know if anyone actually _likes_ it or not…

And the next chapters are _much_ shorter, I _promise_… And involve the Titans (sorry about the all-Slade chapter)…


	2. Living in the Shadow

**Thankyou** all so much, to both those who read it – I trust some of you enjoyed it, even if you didn't review – and to those who reviewed. Honestly, I am so _happy_ (I have little to aspire to…) that some people like it. Last time around I was getting a distinct impression that people weren't… well, _impressed_. Although it was all the same content, I guess smaller chapters, and less of them at a time, is the key. Here I now offer you chapters 2 and 3 (originally together as chapter 2) and I hope you enjoy them.

And to show my gratitude, I am dedicating these chapters to my four reviewers. So; to Yami no Kaiba (no, I deleted the original, but this one will have all the same content); and to Phoenix Skyborne (I greatly appreciate your short-but-sweet words of approval); and to DarkMarklv (a HP fan, huh? Trust me, I can assure you that London isn't all it's cracked up to be, and that Diagon Alley and Platform 9 ¾ genuinely _don't_ exist, as so many Japanese tourists believe…); and, lastly, to Quinn and His Quill (so _now_ you read it, huh?…). I am truly most grateful to you especially.

Do enjoy.

Living in the Shadow of the Bat

Adrenaline surged through his body as he hit the ground once again, pain familiar, almost like an old friend, but nevertheless unwanted, and he tried to force it away and forget about it as he got to his feet. His opponent swung at him again as he straightened up, not giving him a chance to defend himself, and he was pitched onto his back for the fourth time that minute. He rolled into a cartwheel that set him back on his feet, but he was no sooner there than his opponent, who viciously backhanded him then slammed into him, dazing him. He staggered, allowing his attacker to grab him by the front of his shirt and throw him across the room. He ended up on the floor again, tried to get up but found himself too winded to even get onto his knees. He collapsed heavily, trying to get his breath back, and felt the large shadow of his opponent fall over him.

"Please… no more…" he moaned breathlessly, closing his eyes behind his mask. "I give up…"

"That was pathetic," Batman told his ex-sidekick shortly, pulling down his cowl. "I didn't even work up a sweat. This is _supposed_ to be a training session."

"Sorry… I just…" Robin dragged himself to his knees, a manoeuvre that took what little breath he had.

"I thought you were better than that," Batman went on coolly. "You barely blocked anything and left yourself wide open. Is that how you usually fight? I have to say I'm disappointed. In two years you don't seem to have improved much. In fact, you've gotten worse."

"But you're _Batman!_" Robin wailed. "_No-one_ can beat you!" He paused, reclaiming his breath again, then added bitterly; "I'm just the _sidekick_, remember? What were you expecting?"

"I was expecting you to last more than three minutes and six seconds!" Batman said sharply.

"But it was an unfair fight!" Robin insisted. "You're _Batman!_"

"That attitude will do nothing but hold you back," his ex-mentor told him icily. "Now get up and we'll try again, and we'll keep trying until you learn to block. Acrobatics won't save you forever."

Robin didn't see the point in even _attempting_ to argue. With a sigh he hauled himself to his feet and straightened his cape, wondering vaguely why his ex-partner was being so hard on him. The Dark Knight had called Titans Tower the night before, inviting his ex-sidekick to Gotham for the day to indulge in a little sparring session in the BatCave, for "old time's sake".

_More like an excuse to beat the crap out of me_, Robin thought moodily as he and Batman faced off again for what seemed like the millionth time that day. First it had been a simple workout, then acrobatics, at which the apprentice had exceeded the master, then staff work and punch-bags and weights and even meditation, for Pete's sake…

Now, nearing the late evening, he was thoroughly battered and bruised and absolutely decided that he would refuse point-blank the next time his ex-partner offered him an invitation to a workout session. He wasn't sure what hurt more; his ego or his body. He figured that Batman had worked out that the Boy Wonder had done something real bad and was punishing him for it, but couldn't think what.

Unless that damn Joker had told Ol' Bats that his little protégé was no longer a virgin on the road-trip back to Arkham Asylum a few weeks ago… yeah, that would match the torture he was being subjected to right now.

"Um… Batman?" He asked timidly as the Dark Knight flicked up his cowl and closed in on him. "Whatever I did to annoy you… I'm really sorry."

Batman stopped in his tracks and cocked his head in puzzlement.

"Come again?"

"Well, you're beating me up pretty bad for no reason, so there must _be_ a reason… I'm sorry. ok, for whatever I did…" He flinched as Batman came closer to him. "Can you stop throwing me around now, please?"

Batman snorted.

"You think I'm punishing you for something?" He asked incredulously. "Robin, I'm trying to _help_ you!"

"Yeah, fat lip, black eye…" Robin's tone was sarcastic as his annoyance mounted again. "Gee, thanks. Great help."

"Don't you get sarcastic with me!" Batman snapped angrily. "My theory is that your training techniques exercised with the Titans are not nearly effective enough. That is, if you even train at all." He peered hard at his ex-ward, noticing the scowl on his rounded face. "The whole business with the Joker a few weeks ago… do you realise how many times you almost got yourself killed in that short space of time! All because of foolishness and arrogance and the irrational thought that you can do as you please. You were shot, kidnapped, knocked out, stabbed, thrown off buildings and I don't know what else. For some reason your fighting technique has dwindled instead of improving. Well, I won't have it! If you're going to stay in this business, and more to the point, stay _alive_, you're going back to square one; training with me."

"Can't we take a five-minute break?" Robin wheedled. "I think you've broken at least three of my ribs…"

Batman stared hard at his ex-ward for a few seconds, taking in his pleading expression, so innocent and childish, and relented.

"Oh, alright…" he sighed. "But five minutes, and no more, do you understand?"

Robin nodded vigorously, then stopped and put a hand to his pounding head.

"Gotcha," he muttered, feeling a bump on his skull beneath his gloved fingers. "Jeez, I think I'm concussed…"

Batman smiled faintly and pulled down his cowl once again, then glanced at the digital clock showing on one of the multiple screens of the BatCave's computer system. It read 9:13pm. A pang of guilt fleeted through his mind as he sneaked a look at the Boy Wonder, who was examining a large, already-dark bruise just visible beneath the edge of his left glove. Maybe he _was_ being a little hard on the boy, but then, Batman had to admit he'd been pretty disappointed in his protégé a few weeks ago against the Joker and his groupies. Obviously it was impossible to be victorious all the time, as Batman himself well knew, but it had become evident that the Boy Wonder was slacking off in response to training. No doubt he was too busy solving feuds over pizza toppings or what movie to watch, or else obsessing about Slade. But how, the Dark Knight asked himself, did Robin ever expect to beat Slade if all he did was sit in a dark room and devise half-witted plans to unmask him? Oh, Robin was clever, Batman knew. Maybe cleverer than _him_. In some ways the boy was a genius, but he used his mind in the wrong way, and that was the worst of it. Sometimes Batman even thought that his ex-ward had a bit of a dual personality, not quite to the extent of Two-Face, but for this reason was easily corruptible and often stupid.

He looked at the Teen Titan again; he was stretching as though he had just got out of bed. The Dark Knight crossed to him and put his hand on his shoulder as he came back to his normal height.

"I'm sorry I'm being so hard on you," he apologised, frowning slightly at the wide-eyed expression on Robin's face. Robin shrugged.

"I've had worse," he said offhandedly. He paused. "Actually, no; I haven't," he admitted. "Even Slade hasn't beat me up this bad." He ran a hand through his dark hair and yawned.

"How about I give Alfred a ring upstairs and ask him to bring down some drinks?" Batman offered. "A bit of sugar might give you an energy boost."

Robin frowned.

"Sugar?"

Batman snorted.

"I'm hardly going to offer you a Budweiser," he said sharply. "You're underage."

"Yay. Juice." If there was any enthusiasm in Robin's voice at all, it wasn't evident.

"Do you want a drink or not?" Batman snapped, losing his patience with his ex-sidekick.

Robin yawned again.

"Yeah, ok…"

Batman turned on his heel and made for the intercom beside the computer that was connected to the main upstairs link. He was just about to press the button when the door of the BatCave banged open and Alfred came down the metal stairway as fast as he was able.

"Talk about timing, Alfred," Batman exclaimed, coming towards the manservant as he reached Robin, out of breath.

"What's up, Alfred?" Robin inquired as the elderly butler leaned on his shoulder, clutching his side.

"I came down… as fast as I could," Alfred panted. "Master Bruce… Master Dick…"

"Robin," Robin corrected immediately.

"Master Robin…" Alfred repeated obediently, still struggling to get his breath back.

"Alfred, what's the matter?" Batman asked urgently, steadying his old friend as he sagged on the teen sidekick's shoulder.

"I'm afraid… there has been a break-in… at Arkham Asylum," Alfred managed to say. Batman and Robin exchanged looks.

"A break-_in_, Alfred?" Batman repeated uncertainly.

"Don't you mean a break-_out?_" Robin added. Alfred shook his head.

"No, Master Robin," he said, his voice still unsteady. "It has just… been shown on the news. Someone has broken into… Arkham Asylum… no doubt to free one of the scoundrels kept… within it's many cells. It is in chaos, Master Bruce. Several of the more… dangerous inmates have escaped in the process and… are running amok all over the place. The Bat-signal has been lit…"

Batman nodded to Robin and together they helped Alfred over to the large leather chair beside the computer system and the elderly man sank into the seat; it was obvious he had ran from wherever he had been in the mansion right down to the BatCave, not a sensible excursion for someone of his age.

"I'll get on it immediately, Alfred," Batman vowed. "Thankyou for alerting me so quickly; the Bat-signal monitors are not turned on. I want you to stay right here and do technological back-up; the radio system in the Batmobile is already programmed to the BatCave and I'll turn my microphone on. Put on the Arkham cameras and maps and redirect me."

"Affirmative, Master Bruce," Alfred said firmly. "I live to serve."

Batman nodded his thanks and sprinted off across the BatCave towards the Batmobile vault, where he tapped in a code and a metal panel slid back, revealing the sleek black monster of a car within.

Robin leaned against the control panel, feeling very useless and out of place. Once this had been his environment, but now he was just in the way. The problem was that he would have to wait until Batman returned from Arkham to get home, as the Dark Knight had picked him up from Titans Tower that morning. It didn't seem fair to call Cyborg and pester him to come and get him in the T-car.

However, Batman's next words, aimed at him, were both unexpected and appreciated.

"What are you waiting for, Robin! An invitation! Come on, boy!"

He ignored the clipped tone and sarcastic words and practically skipped over to the Batmobile.

"You're really letting me come?" He exclaimed, clambering into the car next to Batman.

"I'm reluctant," the Dark Knight admitted, "but I could do with some help on this one. I think it's going to be a handful."

Robin nodded his agreement as he pulled across his seatbelt and settled back into the black leather upholstery.

"Good luck, sirs!" Alfred called from the computer system. Batman sombrely saluted him as he slid the translucent black glass bubble across and revved the fearsome engine. The dark beast roared and screeched out of the BatCave, through a dimly lit tunnel and out into the dank streets of Gotham.

Robin didn't get to see much scenery or refresh his memory of the better places in Gotham, as Batman was driving like a maniac, and all too soon they were screaming to a halt outside the wrought iron gates of Arkham Asylum. Police sirens wailed and searchlights shone, clustered around the gates and in the grounds were huge police blocks of cops and cars, all armed with flares, guns and batons.

Robin couldn't help whistling in surprise and awe at the lunacy of it all as he hopped out of the Batmobile and joined the Dark Knight as he swept through the grounds with the air of the malevolent bat he was.

"Stay close," Batman ordered; Robin nodded but was unsure of whether Batman had seen him. Looking up he saw the Bat-signal against the clouds, slightly distorted but nevertheless recognisable.

"Batman! Thank god you were able to get here so quickly!"

Robin recognised the voice, and turned back to see a tall, heavily built man with grey hair and a matching moustache hurriedly approaching Batman. The long tan trench-coat synched the deal and Robin recognised this man to be Police Commissioner James Gordon; they had met on a number of occasions, long before Robin had joined the Teen Titans.

"I tell you, it's an absolute nightmare in there!" Commissioner Gordon said to Batman. "Half of them are out; Two-Face, the Mad Hatter, the Riddler, Killer Croc… you name it. Whoever broke in must have released them as a distraction. Tell me you can do something, Batman; for god's sake, tell me you can get them all back where they belong! We've got half the force in there already but we can't afford to send too many in; we need them out here to ensure none of them escape."

"We'll do our best, Jim," Batman promised. Commissioner Gordon frowned.

"_We?_"

"Robin and I," Batman explained flatly, pushing Robin out from behind him; the Boy Wonder was peeping out from his hiding place like a shy toddler holding on to his mommy's apron strings.

Commissioner Gordon blinked as he looked Robin up and down. Finally he shook his head and held out his hand.

"Nice to see you again, kid," he said politely as he shook with the Teen Titan.

"Bats; good to see you."

A clear Chicago accent cut the noisy air and Batman, Robin and Commissioner Gordon looked in the direction of the source. Another figure Robin recognised was approaching, this one shorter than Gordon and little less than rotund, dressed in a grey trench-coat and grey fedora with a black band. Spikes of dark hair poked out from underneath the brim of his hat, which cast shadow onto his clean-shaven face.

"Evening, Bullock," Batman greeted the detective coolly. Harvey Bullock grinned.

"Didn't think you were gonna show," he said, still grinning. "I'd get right to it if I were you." He took a cigarette and a silver Zippo lighter from a pocket in his coat and lit it up, inhaling it deeply as he replaced his lighter. His small eyes fell on Robin and he too blinked in surprise.

"Returned to the nest, have we?" He asked after a while, breathing out smoke as he spoke. Robin caught some of it as he breathed in and started to cough. "Or is this a new kid, Bats?"

"The same one," Batman replied icily, taking Robin by the shoulders and pulling him away from Bullock. "And I would appreciate it if you would not share your disgusting habits with him."

Bullock shrugged.

"Sorry, kid."

Batman turned back to Commissioner Gordon as Robin's coughing fit subsided.

"As I was saying, we'll do our best to restore order," he told the commissioner. Gordon nodded as Batman swept past without another word to Bullock, Robin close at his heels.

The Boy Wonder heard Bullock address Commissioner Gordon as he moved past them and realised they were discussing him;

"I tell ya, Commish," Bullock said in a voice low enough to be out of Batman's earshot but not Robin's, "I swear that kid has come back from the grave…"

"Alright, this is not going to be a walk in the park," Batman said bluntly as the police barrages allowed him and his estranged sidekick access to the entrance hall of the gothically ornate Arkham Asylum. "I'm not sure you're ready for this; I've never put you in this kind of danger before, and I doubt you've ever been in this deep with the Titans either, even concerning Slade. But I really need back-up and I trust you more than anyone else to cover my back."

They reached the front desk, which was absent of a receptionist, or indeed any sign of life at all, intelligent or otherwise. However, the entire hallway was flashing crimson and the security sirens were wailing fit to bust for attention, signifying that the system was down.

"We're going to split up," Batman continued over the sirens. "You have weapons?"

Robin nodded, indicating to his utility belt.

"As always. Staff, explosive and ice discs, smoke bombs, circuit terminator, lock-pick, grappling hook and birdarangs."

"Communicator? We'll need to be in contact."

Robin retrieved his communicator from the back of his belt and handed it to Batman, who had outstretched his gloved hand to receive it. He watched as the Dark Knight played around with the buttons for a few seconds, then tossed it back to him.

"I've temporarily reprogrammed it," Batman explained. "It's automatically dialled to mine, and the BatCave is the first button to the left. Alfred is on stand-by if you need him. We're both on the Arkham maps as named lights and he's watching us. If you get lost or need help, call him and he'll tell you where to go."

Robin nodded, a faint grin on his face.

"This sounds like one of the Game-station games Cy and B.B play on," he commented. Batman scowled deeply and seemed to increase in size.

"Robin, this is not a game," he seethed, looming over his ex-partner. "If you screw up by being stupid, so help me, I'll-"

"Hey, chill out," Robin interrupted hurriedly, putting his hands up in surrender. "I was just kidding."

Batman grabbed him by the front of his red shirt and pulled him right off his feet.

"You listen to me," he breathed savagely, his breath warm on the Boy Wonder's face. "I don't want to send you in here, because I don't really feel I can trust you not to get yourself into some stupid situation. But I have no choice…"

He sighed heavily and released the frightened Titan, then placed his cowled head in his hands.

"Robin, _please_," he begged. "Please… don't be stupid. Don't get hurt. Don't get killed in here. I've already been through it with Jason, and you know what it's like to lose someone you love… I've already lost too much. I love you, Robin; I feel like you're my son. Please… I don't know what I'd do if I lost you…"

He looked up again and placed his hand on Robin's shoulder.

"Promise me you'll be careful," he pleaded hoarsely. "_Promise_…"

He couldn't deny Batman this, not after everything he'd ever done for him; when he answered he had never meant anything so strongly.

"I will, I promise…"

Batman smiled beneath his cowl and swept off without another word, something, Robin noticed, he was very prone to doing. Well, Robin himself was very prone to getting into trouble, but he wouldn't this time. He would keep his promise, and he would walk out of here without even a scratch.

_I'm bruised enough as it is_, he thought, a little bitterly.

He turned and walked off in the opposite direction to the Dark Knight, taking his staff from his belt as he went and allowing it to shoot out to full extent beneath his gloved fingers. He wandered down a maze of corridors, the sirens beginning to give him a headache and the blinding red flashes hurting his blue eyes.

He could always remember his mother, Mary Grayson, once telling him that he was lucky to have such pretty eyes, but unfortunate in the fact that blue eyes were very sensitive; he had noticed that she had worn sunglasses constantly in the summer, sometimes even when indoors. He had inherited her eye colour; his father's had been stone grey, much like Bruce's.

He found himself in another corridor, this one without the lights and sirens, the latter of which were still audible. On the other hand, this corridor had cells and something else that the previous corridors hadn't had; prisoners inhabiting them.

No-one dangerous or notorious, of course. These were regular prisoners; "small-time bums", as he had once heard Harvey Bullock call them. But then, Bullock thought just about everyone was a "bum" or a "jerk".

He kept to the middle of the corridor, trying to ignore the expletives and cat-calls that were thrown in his direction, most of them poking fun at his persona;

"Hey, look! It's the Boy Hostage!"

"Yo, Bird-Boy! Where's the Big Bad Bat?"

"Hey, little birdie! Come let me out and I'll give you some birdseed!"

He also received a few wolf-whistles that were far from flattering, along with a few offers that made him shudder, from several specimens, obviously homosexual, that were desperately deprived of sexual contact of any variety, much less a teen wearing green spandex. He found himself very glad that these inmates, while considerably less dangerous than the likes of the Joker and Killer Croc, were still behind bars, or he might find himself in the sort of situation he really felt he couldn't handle without killing someone. He was nearing the end of the corridor now, and quickened his pace slightly, clutching his staff all the more tightly in case the security here suddenly went down and he found himself in the midst of a bunch of yuppies and gays of the touchy-feely variety.

And then he heard it. That familiar, loud, brash, grating voice:-

"Hey, Bird-boy! Get your ass over here; we've got a little score to settle!"

He knew it was Johnny Rancid before he even whipped around and saw the biker leaning against the bars of his cell, his grin advertising his yellowed teeth in the worst way. He hesitated, debating whether or not to obey Johnny's command.

"You heard me!" Johnny roared as the Boy Wonder stalled. He grinned, his expression darkening. "Or are ya chicken?"

"_Robin_," Robin corrected icily. "The "R" kinda gives it away, or can't you even spell a five-letter word?" He turned away and was about to stalk off in the "Don't mess with me, punk" stride he had picked up from Batman.

The clucking noises coming from the direction of Johnny's cell froze him dead. Every nerve snapped and he was by Johnny's cell in an instant, his furious expression doing little to extinguish the biker's hysterical laughter.

It was painfully obvious, particularly by the dozen or so times he had come into contact with Johnny Rancid, that the biker was in no way afraid of him and took him anything but seriously. So, Robin realised, the only way to get back at him was to be sharp and sarcastic rather than trying to scare him the way Batman did. Unlike Batman, he just _wasn't_ scary, and that was all there was to it.

"Some score you're gonna settle, locked up in there," Robin said smoothly, folding his arms. To his satisfaction, Johnny's laughter died.

"You just shut up!" The biker spat. "You're just nothing, just some dumbass little kid with equally dumbass friends!"

Robin shrugged.

"Maybe," he agreed nonchalantly. "But you're in there, and I'm not, so, um… looks like I'm the one calling the shots, hmm?"

The surrounding cells were completely silent as every prisoner listened to the argument between the Teen Titan and the hefty biker with undivided attention.

_Probably the only entertainment they get_, Robin mused grimly.

"You wait 'til I get outta here, Bird-boy!" Johnny snarled, pressing his face right against the bars of his cell. "Then there'll be hell to pay, and _you'll_ be first on my hit-list!"

"Flattered," Robin murmured, raising his eyebrows.

Johnny's scream of angst and rage echoed off the bare walls of his cell.

"_Shut up!_" He screeched. "Shut up, Bird-boy! I'm gonna kill you; I swear I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna strangle you with your own damn grappling hook, I'm gonna tear out your guts with your own little boomerang-thing!"

There were a few delighted hisses from the other prisoners as the argument began to intensify.

"You tell him, Johnny!" One yelled to the biker.

"But don't play too rough with him!" Another warned. "I got plans for him when the security outage gets to here."

"Yeah, so have I!"

Robin turned sharply, his scowl back in place and his temper close to boiling point.

"None of you are touching me, you freaks!" He snapped, trying to force back the desire to shudder. There were a few moans, some disappointed, some near desperate.

"Ah, c'mon Bird-boy! Loosen up a little!"

"Yeah… yeah, we got money! We'll pay you…"

He instinctively backed up against the wall, as far away from these deprived weirdos as possible. At least, he _thought_ it was the wall; too late he realised he'd actually backed against the bars of Johnny's cell. This much was obvious when the biker grabbed him by the back of his cape and slammed his back against the metal, then snaked his arm through and started to strangle him against the bars. Robin desperately clawed at Johnny's strong arm as it cut off his air supply, dropping his staff in the process, but couldn't get free as he was trapped between the biker's arm and the bars of the cell.

_Literally five minutes after I promised Batman I wouldn't get into trouble…_

He could hear the shrieks and cheers of some prisoners, and the moans of others.

"Get him, Johnny! _Get him!_"

"Oh, _man_… he's gonna kill him…"

He couldn't kick him as the bars of the cell were in the way, couldn't punch him for the same reason… and then a fleeting idea came into his head. He desperately went for his belt and found what he was looking for; smoke bombs. Using what little strength he had he tossed them hard towards the floor and heard them explode. A cloud of smoke erupted out of nothing, engulfing both Johnny and the Boy Wonder himself. He heard Johnny choking and felt his arm loosen; Robin was coughing himself but found the strength to pull away from the bars and the smoke and fall to his knees, recovering. Some of the prisoners were cheering and whooping as though at a baseball game.

"Nice save, Bat-boy!"

"This is _way_ better than wrestling!"

"You rotten little coward, Bird-boy!" Johnny shrieked between coughing. Robin got to his feet and brushed himself down, his recovery much quicker than the biker's, and moved away from the spreading cloud of smoke by Johnny's cell. He saw his chance to leave, but a distinct scraping of metal made him stop and turn back. Through the thinning smoke he saw, to his horror, that Johnny had reached through the bars of his cell and grabbed the staff lying discarded on the floor. The biker was now twirling it idly on the other side of the cell.

He couldn't walk away without it; he needed it; he relied on it, and more to the point he didn't have another one. He waved the smoke away as he stormed back over to the cell.

"Give that back!" He ordered furiously, already knowing what the reaction would be.

"Yeah, right," Johnny said with a grin, examining the staff closely.

Robin felt his temper flare up again, annoyed with himself for letting it out of his reach, and frustrated that it was so close and yet unobtainable. He went to his belt and took out his lock-pick.

"You've got 'til the count of three to give it to me or I'm going to come in and get it," he told the biker sharply, trying to sound as threatening as Batman and not succeeding; Johnny merely burst out laughing.

"Ok, here you go, Bird-boy…" the biker gasped; he pushed the staff back through the bars horizontally, waited for the Boy Wonder to reach out to take it, then suddenly rammed the end of it into Robin's stomach, winding him. Robin clutched at his stomach and fell to his knees as Johnny pulled the staff back through into the cell. Cheers and catcalls accompanied this small victory as Robin staggered to his feet and straightened up, his breathing uneven.

"Give me that…" His anger was lost in his breathlessness as he demanded his staff back. Johnny retreated out of Robin's reach and shook his black-maned head.

"Nah, don't think so," he reasoned. He cocked his head thoughtfully, the tiny metal object in Robin's hand catching his eye.

"I'll trade you, though," he offered, nodding at the lock-pick. "You can have it back for that lock-pick."

Robin snorted.

"Sure," he said sarcastically, moving to the lock himself. "Forget it. I'll get it myself…"

He inserted the oddly-shaped piece of metal into the lock, realising how stupid he was being by opening the cell but disregarding it completely. He worked at it, listening over the distant sirens and the calls of "Me next!" for the click.

And then the entire corridor was plunged into complete darkness as the system for that wing went down. The sirens went off, loud and patronising, and the red lights made their appearance, picking out the ecstatic faces of the prisoners as the doors to their cells swung open. There was an impression of strobe lighting, as if the scene around him was animated scene by scene, movement by movement.

And every movement was towards _him_.

The thought that they were more occupied with him than trying to escape was far from flattering, and it seemed that Johnny was loathe to the idea too.

"Back off, you jerks!" The biker warned threateningly. "Bird-boy's _mine_…"

He turned, the staff in his large hand, ready to beat Robin's brains out, and was sent to the floor by a single powerful kick to the gut. Robin snatched his staff back and didn't wait around for Johnny to get up, much less for the other prisoners to reach him. He pulled from his belt two ice discs and let them find their own mark as he turned on his heel and fled.

_Coward? Maybe. Homophobic coward? Plausible. Sensible homophobic coward? Affirmative_.

He kept running until he had put at least six or seven corridors between him and the prisoners, then slowed to a walk that was nevertheless quick and purposeful. He hated to think of himself as a coward; after all, very little _really_ scared him. But somehow, when he had seen those guys approaching him, and had realised their intentions, panic had simply invaded his mind and his only thought had been to put as much distance between himself and them as possible.

But was that a normal reaction? He tried to imagine Beast Boy or Cyborg or even Batman in the situation. Cyborg… well, he was a cyborg, wasn't he? He'd have just got out his proton cannon and blown them all away. And they wouldn't have even come _near_ Batman. It was little comfort to think that Beast Boy would probably have done the same thing as him; up and run, only probably in the form of a cheetah.

_So I've got a bit of an issue with the whole gay thing…_

It hit him pretty hard; he had never realised it before. Heck, he had never even _thought _about it before.

He was prevented from dwelling on it any further as another figure entered the corridor, looking behind them to see if they were being followed; in the dull light of the silent corridor (the security outage had yet to reach here, Robin realised) Robin recognised the person before him as they turned towards him. A tall man, dressed in a pale grey sweatshirt and dark blue sweatpants, the uniform of Arkham residents, something small and silver clutched tightly in his hand. His face was the most striking thing about him; half of it was normal, devastatingly handsome, but the other half, the left side, was mutilated and warped into that of a monster, the half of the mouth on its pitch burned into a permanent snarl and the hair on his head singed, tangled and chalk white.

Of _all_ people;

Two-Face.

Like? I know it's an abrupt ending, but that's because this and chapter 3, _Phobophobia_, were originally one whole chapter. Next chapter is up too, if you would care to read on… And sorry that it seems to be completely irrelevant to the first chapter; it _isn't_…


	3. Phobophobia

Phobophobia

_(Phobophobia is the Latin word for a fear of fear itself)_

Robin froze as he ran his gaze over the man – a dangerous criminal – who now stood before him; who paused, looked cautiously behind him.

_Two-Face_.

This man had once been a lawyer named Harvey Dent, brilliant, intelligent, kind and handsome to boot. He had also, Robin knew, been a very good friend of Bruce's. But somehow, following an accident involving acid that had permanently scarred his face, Harvey Dent had become _this_; a cold-blooded killer obsessed with the number two. Robin recognised the silver thing in Two-Face's hand to be the villain's lucky two-headed dollar, one side scratched to represent tails; whenever Two-Face had a decision to make, no matter how trivial, he always consulted the coin, heads for positive and tails for negative.

Robin heard the villain breathe a sigh as he approached.

"Lost him… creepy bat…"

Robin smiled faintly as he realised Two-Face was obviously being chased by Batman. He himself wasn't afraid of the former lawyer; he wasn't dangerous without a gun in his hand. He stepped out of the shadows, blocking Two-Face's path.

"Looks like you'll have to make do with his partner," he said softly, the realisation that he had just referred to himself as Batman's partner dawning on him as the words left his lips. What surprised him more was how easily and thoughtlessly he had said it, almost as though he had forgotten that he was a Teen Titan…

"The little bird," Two-Face acknowledged, stopping in his tracks. The normal half of his mouth curled into a smile. "I heard Bats was working alone these days."

"You heard wrong," Robin said before he could stop himself.

"No matter." Two-Face's half smile did not deteriorate. "How should I dispose of you? Heads: quick and merciful. Tails: slow and painful." He flipped his coin into the air where it somersaulted over and over more times than either of them could count, then landed back in Two-Face's hand, whereupon he slapped his other down on it.

"Moment of truth, Boy Wonder," he said softly. Robin clutched his staff more tightly as Two-Face lifted his hand to reveal the verdict.

"Heads," Two-Face said, his disappointment evident. He put his coin into the pocket of his sweatpants slowly and deliberately. "That's probably best; I _am_ on the run from the Bat."

He suddenly lunged forwards, swinging his fist at Robin's face in a punch that was surprisingly well-precisioned. It was slow, however, and Robin was easily able to duck beneath it, grab hold of Two-Face's arm and use the villain's greater weight to overbalance him. Robin backflipped as Two-Face crunched to the floor, then straightened up and retracted his staff, putting it away.

"I wish it had come up tails," Two-Face spat as he got to his feet. Robin shrugged and sprung into a cartwheel, landing inches from Two-Face and delivering an uppercut to his mutilated jaw. A scissor-kick and then a roundhouse followed, throwing Two-Face back to the floor, where he struggled to get up. Robin approached the fallen villain and stood over him, his arms loosely folded and his expression extremely smug.

"Not so great now, huh?" He stated rather than asked. He realised how arrogant he probably sounded, but for the moment didn't care; he simply basked in the baleful look Two-Face was shooting in his direction, one which he had been expecting.

What he didn't expect was Two-Face's expression to suddenly become wide-eyed, almost terrified, and even less did he expect the villain to suddenly start shrieking and backing away from him. Robin's own expression faded from that contented little smirk to one of confusion as he looked over his shoulder, expecting to find Batman looming over him.

But there was nothing there. He sharply turned back to Two-Face, thinking the villain was trying to distract him, but found that Two-Face was now writhing on the floor, still shrieking, but now his screams formed words;

"My coin! No, not my coin! Please, no… no, I need it! Please don't take my coin! _Please!_…"

"I don't have your stupid coin," Robin retorted waspishly. "You put it in your pocket."

To his surprise Two-Face didn't seem to hear him, nor did he notice him any longer. Robin cocked his head in confusion as he watched Two-Face's strange behaviour, then approached him cautiously, still wary of the fact that it might be a trick. He crouched down next to the villain and shook him hard. Two-Face screamed and looked at Robin with wild eyes, and yet didn't see him. He was now shrieking about someone named "Marilyn" and his words were along the same lines as the ones about his coin.

_Great. I hit him too hard and now he's got brain-damage_…

Robin grasped Two-Face by his broad shoulders and used all of his strength to haul him to his knees. The villain was shaking uncontrollably. Robin frowned as he stared hard into Two-Face's unseeing eyes, guessing that somehow he was hallucinating.

And then he saw it. Tiny wisps of some kind of gas, atomic green in colour but pale with thinness, trailing around them both near the floor level. Robin decided that this gas was responsible for Two-Face's condition; regardless, he wasn't sure what it was and knew it was important to get both himself and Two-Face out of the area. Trying not too breathe in too heavily he shook Two-Face hard, trying to get him to snap out of his present state.

"Two-Face! Two-Face, c'mon! We have to get out of here…" He didn't get much of a reaction so tried a different tack. "Harvey! _Harvey!_ _Come on_, wake up!" He slapped the villain across the mutilated side of his face. Two-Face blinked several times and Robin breathed a sigh of relief. It didn't look as though Two-Face had breathed in too much of whatever the gas was.

"Harvey, can you get up?" He asked pointedly, shaking Two-Face again. Two-Face nodded slightly and Robin helped him to his feet. The villain nearly collapsed again and Robin was obliged to prevent him from doing so. He slung Two-Face's arm over his shoulders, taking the heavier man's weight. He dragged Two-Face with him as the villain shuffled along beside him, locked in his hallucination. Over the sirens Robin could hear the faint shrieks and screams of others in the building; obviously the gas was spreading rapidly.

He and Two-Face fell through a doorway into another corridor, this one too dimly lit and without sirens. More importantly it was also absent of gas. Robin released Two-Face as the doors banged shut behind them, allowing him to collapse in a quivering heap. There was no way he could possibly haul Two-Face all the way outside; he simply wasn't strong enough. He figured it was ok to leave him here, though. The gas didn't seem to be in this area and anyway, he had bigger things to worry about. For some reason, he found himself concerned about Batman. What if the gas had got him unaware and now he was lying curled up in a similar state to Two-Face? He started to walk away, then stopped and looked back at Two-Face, wondering whether or not to tie him up with something. He decided against it, mainly because he had nothing with which to bind him, and also because it didn't look as though Two-Face was going to be going anywhere any time soon.

He left the corridor, his steps quiet and cautious, and found himself in another exactly identical. He came to a halt and allowed himself a brief look around, moving like a frightened rabbit into the shadows as he heard the approach of footsteps. Peeping out from his hiding place he saw the intruders to be two members of the Gotham Police Department, both with their guns loaded and poised. He stayed where he was until they had passed, not wanting to have "Boy Hostage" jokes hurled in his direction, as had been common back when he had truly been Batman's crime-fighting partner. When they had safely gone he stepped out into the middle of the corridor and went to his belt for his communicator. On pulling it out he flipped it open and played around with the buttons, trying to reach Batman's own communication device.

Just to check he was ok. He wasn't worried about him. Seriously, who worried about _Batman?_

"I do," Robin whispered to no-one, frowning as he failed to connect to the Dark Knight.

"How touching."

Robin whipped around at the sound of that familiar voice. The Riddler was leaning in the doorway, looking much less generic without his green suit, cane and bowler hat, and instead dressed in the same fashion as Two-Face; navy sweatpants and pale grey sweatshirt. But he was the Riddler all the same, his green eyes glittering with intelligence and his red hair, unlike Two-Face's, perfectly tamed.

"We've got some things to discuss, Hotshot," the Riddler murmured, approaching Robin with a malicious smile on his face.

"Mm." Robin shifted slightly backwards, not taking his eyes off the Riddler.

"The way I see it, you and the Bat… you got me locked in here again. I got pretty banged up when the clock tower exploded a few weeks back, too. I'm not happy with you at all, Bird-boy; not happy _at all_…"

"Understandable." Robin looked briefly over the Riddler's shoulder, checking for wisps of gas. The Riddler seemed put out.

"You're acting very strangely, Bat-brat," he acknowledged. "Very _evasively_, in fact…"

He didn't know how, but somehow Robin knew that the gas was spreading in this direction. The air seemed to be getting heavier, as though it was thickening. The Riddler obviously hadn't noticed, but it was getting harder to breathe.

"Riddle me _this_, Bird-boy," the Riddler went on, coming closer still to the Boy Wonder. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

Robin frowned, then shrugged.

"Dunno. I'll have to ask her…"

He was about to spring at the Riddler in attempt to bring him down, but three police officers suddenly burst into the corridor, their guns all aimed at the Riddler.

"Alright, Nygma, don't pull anything funny on us…"

"Come on, wise-ass, let's move it…"

"We're not finished, Bird-boy," the Riddler vowed under his breath as he was hustled away at gunpoint. Robin watched the small group until the four figures disappeared around the corner out of view.

_Getting done out of a job_…

Sighing, he turned back and flipped his pager into the air, deftly catching it and then replacing it in his belt. He heard footsteps coming from beyond the open doorway ahead of him. He half-ran to the end of the corridor and peeped around the edge of the doorframe, squinting a little in the semi-darkness. The footsteps were quickening, becoming louder and closer… Why could he feel his whole body tensing? No doubt it was just some run-of-the-mill criminal making a break for it. He hadn't even noticed that his fists were clenched, that he was biting his bottom lip so hard he had caused it to bleed a little.

And then he saw him, darting across from one corridor into another.

Robin gasped.

_Slade…_

But why? What was he doing here? There was nothing worth stealing in Arkham Asylum. The last time Slade had been anywhere near Gotham, his main target had been Wayne Enterprises.

The darker part of his mind took over again, as it always reigned when Robin found himself confronted with Slade. No thought for consequences, just a blind drive to win, to unmask him, to stop him.

Although… a slight feeling of light-headedness and dizziness was also vying for possession of his senses. He tried to force it away as he leapt from his hiding place and broke into a run. However, he had barely taken a few steps before the dizziness overwhelmed him; he stumbled and came up against the wall, trying to clear his head by shaking it vigorously. He opened his eyes and looked down, seeing to his horror and dismay green wisps of gas winding around his ankles and legs, moving quickly upwards to his hips and waist. He leapt away from the wall, diffusing the gas to a certain extent, but he was still dizzy and the sudden movement caused him to lose his balance. He landed flat on his face on the hard cold floor of the corridor and struggled to get up again. He managed to get to his knees and noticed vaguely that the green gas was all around him now, and was much thicker.

At least, he _thought_ it was. But then, he couldn't be sure. His vision was going funny; it looked like everything was… _moving_, almost as though he was seeing his surroundings through a kaleidoscope. The floor seemed to be rocking back and forth, enhancing the dizzy feeling that was taking over him, making him feel like throwing up. He dragged himself to his feet and staggered against the wall, unable to stay upright; he put his hand to his forehead, willing himself not to vomit all over the floor, and could feel how hot he was through the green fabric of his glove. His eyes opened again as he had an impulse to look at his hands; they were covered in… _blood_. Blood that hadn't been there a few seconds ago. Or had it? He couldn't tell anymore. He heard a dripping sound behind him and had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he abruptly turned and saw blood running in streams down the walls. The fact that this made no sense at all didn't concern him; the only emotion he could understand at all was panic. He felt as though the walls and ceiling were all closing in on him, trying to crush him, while at the same time throwing him about as though he was on a ship. He tried to step backwards and fell, collapsing heavily and this time not finding the strength to get up again.

"Robin…"

He looked up and saw Batman leaning over him, and he too seemed to be moving, his outline blurred and duplicated several times over.

"Batman… help me, please…" He tried to get up but Batman motioned for him to stay down.

"I can't help you," the Dark Knight said coldly. "Not after what you've done."

"What have I done?" His confusion was overwhelming, as though this and the rising panic were the only two feelings he had ever known. "Please, Batman… What have I done? You have to help me, I can't get up, I…"

"You know." Batman's tone didn't change. "But if your memory needs refreshing then get up and look."

Batman rose and Robin struggled to his knees, establishing that the Dark Knight wasn't going to help him. He cast his eyes along the corridor and immediately the urge to be sick washed over him again. The Teen Titans, his own friends, they were all… Well, "dead" wasn't even the word for it. "Brutally murdered" seemed more fitting. Cyborg, Beast Boy, Raven, Starfire… they were all lying together, covered in blood, their flesh and clothes torn. Cyborg's circuits were all torn out, his nerve centre destroyed; Beast Boy's neck was lolling at a grotesque angle; a bloody cord was around Raven's throat, cutting into her pale flesh; Starfire was covered in numerous deep slashes across her alien body, one through her throat, one across her chest, some down her thighs… Her long red hair was tangled and matted with blood and there was a birdarang sunk into her abdomen. Their eyes were all wide open, staring lifelessly at him; staring accusingly at their murderer.

"I… I didn't…" Robin couldn't get the words out as he backed away from his friends' corpses. He looked up at Batman, who wouldn't return his gaze.

"Please… please, Batman… I didn't kill them…" He was shaking with shock, his stomach heaving at the horrible sight in front of him, the sight that Batman believed him to be responsible for. His mouth was dry and the terrible feeling was still conquering him, the feeling of confusion and panic and fear and nausea and shock all mixed together and altogether wiping out anything else.

"You can't think that I… I wouldn't… they're my friends…" He could feel every breath he took wracking his entire body as he lost the energy to kneel upright and instead came onto his hands and knees. "I wouldn't kill them… I wouldn't hurt them, Batman…"

But even as he said it, doubt was creeping into his mind. He looked at them again, at their brutally ravaged bodies, and then looked back at the floor, trying to fight off vomiting. What if he had? What if he truly had turned on them, exploited their weaknesses, hurt them, _killed_ them?… What if everything, every little dark emotion and bad impulse he had ever kept repressed within his mind had been unleashed? What if the darker mind, the darker side of him, had gone one step too far?…

"You deny it, Robin?" Batman sounded almost amused.

"No… stop, _stop_…" Robin half sobbed. "_I didn't do it_; I didn't kill them."

"Oh, but you did, Robin… And what's more, you enjoyed every second of it."

That voice… It wasn't Batman. It was Slade.

Robin managed to lift his head, the dizziness now almost painful. Slade was crouched down next to him, while Batman loomed over them both. Robin didn't understand why Batman didn't do something, why he didn't take Slade down the way he did with all the other villains.

"You're a good boy, Robin." Slade's voice was far from affectionate; it was almost mocking. Robin shook his head, trying again to clear it.

"I didn't kill them."

"You did. You murdered the Teen Titans."

"I _didn't!_" Robin shrieked hysterically. He got to his knees again and placed his head in his hands.

"You did, Robin. We saw you do it. You liked it."

Batman's voice again. Robin looked up, saw Batman swaying back and forth, his expression accusing.

"You were laughing as you killed them. You basked in their screams of pain, their sobs of confusion." Batman shook his head sadly. "You saved Starfire until last, kissed her, made out like you were going to spare her, then cut her to ribbons with your own weapon when she let her guard down."

"And Raven," Slade added softly. He tutted sarcastically. "Real ladies' man, Robin. You kissed her as well, right before you strangled her to death with your grappling hook."

"No…" Robin shook his head violently. "I didn't… I wouldn't…"

"You did."

Robin looked up, his chest heaving, and stared long and hard at the moving Batman.

"If you were watching, why didn't you stop me?"

Batman bowed his head.

"There was nothing I could do. I can't save you, Robin. No-one can. It's too late."

"Too late for what!" Robin asked desperately.

"Too late for you to be anything other than what you have become."

"What do you-"

"You killed them, Robin," Slade interrupted in a whisper, "because _I_ told you to. And you only did what I said because you wanted to. You and I, Robin… we're too alike to be separate. You were destined to follow in my footsteps. We're two of a kind."

Robin shook his head again.

"No, you're wrong! We're not! I'm not like you!" He turned to Batman, who was retreating into the shadows. "Batman, help me, _please_… I need you to-"

"You're beyond saving, Robin. I'm sorry…"

And then he was gone.

"You don't need him," Slade said softly. "You don't need your little friends. You have _me_."

Robin fell to his hands and knees again, drained of energy, then curled up on the floor, his head in his hands.

"I don't want to be like you…" He whispered.

"You cannot change who you are, Robin. Sooner or later you will succumb to the darkness laced within your soul, and when you do you will revel in it."

"I _won't_…" Robin moaned, not believing his own words.

"You will," Slade hissed. "And when you do, I'll be waiting…"

And then he too left the broken Titan, whereupon everything faded into a total blackout and died with his final scream…

Ok, how are we doing? Have I still sustained your interest? Maybe a little gory for a fic based on a children's cartoon, I admit, but this isn't actually as bad as it gets. Drop me a review if you have any suggestions or anything (thanks to DarkMarklv's advice I now accept anonymous reviews), or if there's anything you _don't_ like (I honestly don't mind flames as long as they are constructive).

Hope to hear from you, and hope you enjoyed it.

Next chapters up soon, as long as my reader-base doesn't completely drop off the way it did the first time.

Let me know you care… and I'll dedicate chapters to you!


	4. Sins of the Fathers

Oh, **wow**… People _like_ it! You really, really _do!_ I'm so happy! Once again, to show my appreciation to all you who have reviewed, I dedicate this next chapter to you all; to Nannoch06 (I'm so glad you like my Titans/Gods collaboration, although I have since been snippily informed by my smart-ass friend that the Titans of myth weren't actually gods, apparently…); and to YamiTai (I love your pen name, it's really cute; also, I'm assuming that you liked my _Who Killed Cock Robin?_…); and to DarkMarkLv (_again_; glad it's sustaining you interest. As for your question about Robin/Slade, you'll find out the answer in this chapter…) and to Phoenix Skyborne (also again; I've just finished reading your _Changes_. It was awesome! I've left you some reviews, if you're interested…); and, _once more_ again, to Quinn and his Quill, whose fan-fic, _YamiParty 5_, I still haven't got around to reading…

**Enjoy!** And I love you all! (Ok, don't take that literally… I mean the part about me loving you…)

Sins of the Fathers

Slade slowed his tread to a walk as he ventured further and further into the depths of Arkham Asylum. Down here it was almost completely dark and his penlight served its purpose again. This area was the "nutjob ward", where all of Gotham's most notorious criminals were locked away.

Or _should_ have been. But instead all of the cells were lying empty, with only the little plaques on the lead doors telling of who their inhabitants should have been. Their names alone amused Slade; here they were, dangerous and deranged, and yet they had lame names like "the Riddler", "Killer Croc" and "the Mad Hatter".

All in all, he thought his little jail-break had gone rather successfully. From what the seer had told him, he figured that Arkham had pretty weak security, otherwise these wackos wouldn't keep getting out. His assumption had been correct and it had taken him very little time at all to hack into the system and shut everything down, causing a distraction. Now there were criminals running all over the place, some toting weapons of a various arsenal.

All except one. Slade knew who he was looking for and had deliberately kept the security on for that cell. Now all he had to do was find the only cell with a criminal in it.

He found it soon enough; to his annoyance there was an armed police officer with a badge stating "Gotham P.D" standing guard outside the cell. A mere distraction, but an unwelcome one. Sticking to the shadows he crept over to the police officer until he was behind him. The guard didn't seem to notice. With a single movement Slade snapped the officer's neck and kicked the corpse aside; the man didn't even have time to scream.

"Oh, _Ricky!_ What's goin' on out there, pal! I heard a thud. Don't tell me you're having another of your little _episodes_."

The voice came from inside the cell, loud and mocking, the inhabitant's concern for "Ricky" completely fictional. Slade read the plaque on the door but already knew he had found who he was looking for; _The Joker_.

"I'm afraid your friend Ricky had an accident," Slade told the criminal through the single slot in the lead door.

"Yay! A visitor!" Was the Joker's response, his voice gleeful. "Did you bring me some candy?"

Slade could tell that his patience with this man was going to be put to the test, but ploughed on anyway, hoping to catch the Joker's interest.

"I have a preposition for you," he said levelly. "You want out of there?"

"Yay! Santa's answered my list this year!" The Joker shrieked. Slade scowled beneath his mask.

"Is that a yes or a no?" He asked coldly.

"What's the catch, bubbie?"

"There is no catch," Slade answered truthfully. "Only a minor requirement that will no doubt interest you."

"If it involves the Bat, you've got yourself a deal, bucko!"

Slade detested the way in which the Joker was speaking to him, calling him "bubbie" and "bucko", both of which, he was sure, weren't even real words. However, he let it pass, as his own interests relied heavily on the Joker's participation. And yes, it _did_ involve the Bat, sort of. After all, from all that the seer had informed him, the Bat, or correctly titled "Batman", was a direct connection to the Teen Titans' leader. The old woman had told him many things about Batman and Robin, and indeed of the groundbreaking events that had taken place in Gotham City but a few weeks ago. He knew the Joker would have it in for the Boy Wonder now more than ever.

"Actually, it would involve his little sidekick," Slade corrected softly. Behind the lead sheet he heard the Joker shift and come closer to the slot.

"You know Batboy?" He asked, his surprise evident.

"It is my misfortune to know him very well," Slade replied bitterly.

"Pain in the backside, that kid," the Joker mused. "You want shot of him, eh?"

"Under normal circumstances I would get rid of him myself, but…" Slade trailed off.

"_But?_" The Joker prompted.

"This will take a great deal of explaining."

The Joker shrieked with laughter.

"Trust me, I'm not going anywhere, locked up in here." He paused. "Hey, you going to let me out or not!"

"Patience," Slade answered shortly. "I will. But first we must establish where we stand. You must understand why I have come to you, and then we may settle on an agreement."

"Ooh, a businessman," the Joker murmured in delight. "And with a story! It just gets better and better…"

Slade scowled again, intensely disliking the Joker more and more.

"It began," he started softly, chiding his anger, "many centuries ago, with a world named Azarath…"

OOOOO

What seemed like hours later, the two arch-villains – one the nemesis of Batman, the other the nemesis of the former's ex-sidekick – still stood there, on either side of a reinforced, riveted lead door, conversing in confidential whispers even though there was no-one around to hear their conversation.

"Ricky" still lay dead a few feet away, his corpse growing cold now.

The Joker let out a low whistle as Slade finished talking.

"Certainly got your priorities in order, haven't you?" He asked lightly.

"Hmm, well…" Slade's single grey eye narrowed. "What do you think?"

"I think you should let me out," the Joker replied simply.

"I mean about the prophecy. About… _him_."

"It seems like a fairytale to me," the Joker mused. "A nice big fairytale with frogs and princesses and _bats_…"

Slade sighed angrily and bit back the stream of expletives begging for release.

"Will you help me or not?" He asked, trying to keep his voice level. Behind the lead door the Joker stretched and yawned.

"Anything for a pal," he stated ironically. "On one condition though."

"Name it."

"This… "prophecy"… states that you have to kill him, but enlist my help, right?"

"Correct." Slade folded his arms impatiently.

"Alright, I'll get the brat for you; that'll be my contribution. You can kill him however you like. However…" The Joker's grotesque face broke into an ungodly grin. "…I want to torture the whereabouts of the Bat's hidey-hole out of him."

Slade raised his eyebrows beneath his mask.

"_Torture?_"

"I have some pretty gruesome little toys I haven't played with yet," the Joker said lightly. "And who better to play with than that horrible little brat?"

"Indeed." Slade was far from impressed. Torture wasn't his style; he was more in favour of trashing cities in a reckoning of fire and blood.

"Fine," he said finally. "Do what you will to him. But remember, _I_ kill him."

"Capische."

Slade hesitated, realising that he should let his new "partner" out. He moved closer to the door, his handy pair of pliers at the ready to disable the electronic lock.

"We need a plan."

Slade stopped.

"Go on," he ordered.

"This will require thought," the Joker said, rephrasing his earlier statement. "What we need is a trap of some kind, one that is completely Bat-proof."

The Joker was right, Slade knew. Batman might prove to be a problem, especially now that Arkham was empty. They also had to come up with a way of luring Robin, alone of course, to wherever they were going to kill him.

"Here," he whispered, the idea suddenly dawning on him.

"Pardon?"

"We'll bring him here," Slade repeated more firmly. "The last place anyone would look for him; an empty prison. I took out all the security and the Titans… could track him, I suppose, but by the time they get here…"

"Batbrat will be sleeping in the ocean with the fishies," the Joker finished poetically. "Never mind; Bats'll get over it. He got over the last one I killed."

"But how to get him to come?" Slade questioned, talking more to himself than to the Joker.

"You leave him a rendezvous letter," the Joker contributed. "Tell him to get his little rear end over to Arkham Asylum or there'll be trouble."

"Right, and he'll turn up with the rest of the Titans in tow…" Slade started sarcastically.

"To kick our butts up around our ears," the Joker finished glumly. "Alright, maybe not."

"A "rendezvous letter" isn't a bad idea, though," Slade said thoughtfully. "But if we signed it from you or me, he would come, and probably alone in my case, but he'd be prepared for whatever we were going to do to him. We need to get him to drop his guard, we need to pose as someone he knows and trusts and would come to meet alone with the idea that he is safe."

He smiled behind his mask.

"We need to pretend that we are _Batman_."

The Joker shrieked with maniacal laughter.

"I _love_ it!" He screeched. "I love how your mind works, Sladey!"

Slade scowled at the unwelcome familiar term of "Sladey", but said nothing.

"So we lure him here, kick him about a bit, then bump him off?" The Joker went on. "Sounds good. What do we do with the body? I usually arson mine…"

"Leave him for his friends to find," Slade said expressionlessly. "I've no doubt that they'll come to his aid eventually. Unfortunately he won't be able to thank them."

"Why are you so hung up on this, anyway?" The Joker asked. "Sure, I'm up for a little sport as much as the next guy, but you're really wired about killing this kid, and your reason doesn't even involve the Bat. If _I _kill him, as I have once before, I get to see that self-righteous smirk wiped off Batsy's smug mug; if _you_ kill him, what will you gain? Surely his friends will only become more determined to kill you to avenge their murdered leader?"

"The prophecy," Slade murmured. "The seer told me about the prophecy, about how one would rise to claim the power of the Orb of Azarath, and about how another would rise from the flames of destruction to prevent the reckoning of the world from happening. It's him, and I have to kill him."

"And…?"

"And what?"

"There's something else, I can tell," the Joker smirked. Slade sighed.

"I don't know, I made her translate the whole thing for me and there was something about following the death of the Avenger – that would be Robin – the pillars of law and justice would crumble and the mortal gods who had once reigned would be rendered powerless. She said that these so-called mortal gods were named after those of classical mythology, namely the "Titans". She said that if the Avenger was killed the Titans would be stripped of their powers and so would the Justice League and any other super-powered being that fought for good. The Avenger is a mortal thread between the world as it is and the world as what it will become and it is only by possessing no power at all of his own that he is able to be the nerve centre of the power of the mortal gods."

"That's a pretty long-winded way of saying "The kid's trouble; get rid of him"," the Joker mused. "Basically by killing Batboy the world will be rendered powerless to stop you from taking over. The super_heroes_ will become super_zeroes_."

"It _does_ seem farfetched," Slade agreed. "How likely is it that a masked vigilante's sidekick and teen super-team leader is actually some kind of warrior born to prevent the apocalypse from happening?"

"I think you've been had," the Joker sniggered. "This "seer" of yours is playing a joke on you, and it's a damn good joke too."

Slade took a few seconds to consider the possibility.

"But she knew so much," he argued. "Things that she couldn't possibly have known. She knew I was going to steal the orb, she knew my name. She knew _everything_."

"Oh, _come on_," the Joker said snippily. "All these weird superheroes flying around with their snazzy capes and masks; they all come from different places and backgrounds, some are even _aliens_ like Superman, and they all acquired their powers in different conditions; some were born with them, some got them in freak accidents. It's ludicrous to even _consider_ that they would all be linked to some scrawny teenage brat named after a Christmas bird!"

Slade frowned. The Joker was speaking sense, a rarity in itself as far as he could tell, and yet he couldn't see what the old woman would gain by lying to him. Somehow, despite everything that Joker had just said… he still believed in the prophecy.

And that meant killing Robin, whether the Joker helped him or not. If the prophecy was true, then he would harness power beyond his wildest dreams, and not even the Teen Titans would be of any threat to him. And if it _was_ all a hoax, then Robin's death was a thorn out of Slade's side at least; the other Titans may have been more powerful than their leader, but Robin was the cleverest, a born detective, and in that way the biggest threat to Slade. There was a chance, then, that the Titans would go to pieces in the face of their leader's murder, and instead of avenging his death as the Joker perceived, they would instead fall apart at the seams and the Teen Titans would be no more.

However, there was one other thing that bothered him, another thing concerning the prophecy. The first of the two conditions Robin had to die under; he couldn't be a virgin at the time of his death. When Slade had inquired why, the seer had responded that virginity was a sign of purity, and to completely destroy the bind between the Avenger and the prevention of the reckoning this purity had to be tainted by sexual desire. And while she seemed to know everything else, Slade had noted, she couldn't tell him whether or not this factor was his problem. She had seemed almost… _evasive_, as though she had an idea but was reluctant to part with the information.

As though she knew what he was going to do and got some kind of kick from letting him do it, regardless of whether he needed to.

It was ironic that this should turn out to be the most complicated factor of all. It wasn't like he could lock Robin in a strip club and hope that nature would take its course.

So he had no choice. He couldn't just gamble on it, take a chance and hope for the best. Apparently he only had one shot at this murder-thing and he couldn't afford to let Robin slip out of his grasp.

But hell, he didn't want to do it. Every time he thought about it his flesh crawled and he asked himself if he was really being serious about it all. If he really wanted power that badly.

Because he really didn't want to lower himself to homosexual rape.

He thought about that time now, when, following his blackmailing of Robin into being his apprentice, he had stated that over time he might have become something of a father to the boy. He had been slightly, admittedly, disappointed when Robin had icily responded that he already had a father. He had been referring to this "Batman", no doubt, unbeknownst to Slade then, and hadn't exactly warmed to the idea of Slade taking the Dark Knight's place as father-figure. Slade hadn't pursued the subject, hoping that in time Robin would perhaps come to see him as a father anyway, but even so he had found himself slightly irritated at the manner in which Robin had snubbed him; it had been painfully clear then more so than ever that Robin, however similar he and Slade were, wanted nothing to do with Jump's most notorious villain. It hadn't _upset_ him, obviously; nothing upset him, as he was past such emotion. He could hate Robin now all too easily, seeing him as a treacherous, goody-two-shoes little traitor, but then he hadn't hated him. On the contrary, he had rather liked the Boy Wonder after seeing how devious and under-handed he was capable of being, noting that they were indeed very similar in certain assets, having many characteristics in common. Robin was good, Slade was bad, but somehow they were still two of a kind. He had _wanted_ Robin to accept him as a father, so that he could teach him the savage joy of succumbing to the darkness within, so that he could take pride in watching him grow into something more terrible than even Slade himself. So far Robin was in a state of equilibrium, fighting for good but with a dark side that sometimes caused him to overbalance and go off the rails; Slade had wanted to tip that balance beyond retrieval.

In fact, maybe he still did. Maybe… it was a waste to kill Robin, when instead he could be transformed into everything he had ever hated, into an incarnation of what he fought against.

He had an apprentice, of course; he had Terra. At the moment she was training in the woodlands on the outskirts of Jump, honing her abilities. But something made him want Robin as well, maybe even more so than Terra. Terra was formidable, but Robin had the potential to be more dangerous than she could ever be.

And in concern of his meditation of rape, if he had truly desired for Robin to see him as a father, no matter how much he hated him, could he really go through with it? What kind of father committed such a sin against their son?...

"Not getting cold feet, are you?"

The Joker's mocking voice cut into his thoughts and brought him back to Earth. He scowled.

"Of course not," he responded coolly. "I never get cold feet."

"I do," the Joker said happily. "The floors here are flipping freezing!"

Slade's scowl deepened; he hated jokes, especially bad ones.

"We'll bring him here," he reinstated sharply, "do what needs to be done and kill him."

"Right," agreed the Joker. "Job done; roll on the apocalypse."

"We need to do it soon."

"I'm ready whenever you are, bubbie, but I want my cut."

"You'll have your cut," Slade replied icily. "And then this partnership is finished."

"Hold your horses," the Joker grinned. "It hasn't even begun yet. You haven't let me out."

"Right." Slade moved to the doorway and pulled off the plastic case to the electronic lock.

"I'll handle the rendezvous note," the Joker went on as Slade worked on freeing him. "I know the Bat better than you."

"Yes, you do that," Slade answered vaguely, somewhat distracted by the intricacy of the technology. He cut a few wires and sparks exploded from the circuit box.

"Electrocute me and you die," the Joker warned. Slade didn't answer, instead cutting another wire, yellow and black-striped. No sparks this time, and a faint _bleep_ issued as the system was severed.

"Beautiful," the Joker hissed as the lead door swung slowly open, revealing him in all his hideous glory.

And revealing a grin so grotesque that behind his mask even Slade had to gasp…

* * *

Ooh, the Joker and Slade working together… _That's_ gotta be a bad combo, at least in the eyes of B-Man and the Boy Wonder. Ok, so this is where the "M" rating begins to become apparent, but hopefully I haven't scared you off… Drop me a review, tell me what you think, and I'll get the next chapter (maybe two, I haven't decided) up ASAP! Hopefully you're all still captivated…

Is that another of those damn tumbleweeds?…


	5. Flight From Arkham

Ok, here we are… if you battled through my note to Yami no Kaiba, that is… Thanks for all the great and totally-helpful feedback, you guys! _Soo_… to Quinn and his Quill (I agree; I think tumbleweed shooting should be an Olympic sport too…); and to YamiTai (I find the strangest things cute, you know…); and to Phoenix Skyborne (doesn't Slade _deserve_ to be annoyed by someone like the Joker? Especially after what he did in your _Changes_… bastard…); and to Na**rr**och06 (I _thought_ it looked wrong when I typed it up… And I nicked the fear gas from _Batman: Rise of Sin Tzu_, actually, but it _is_ the same thing; no research, I am, guilty as charged – just like you – a hopeless _Batman_ fan…); and to a new reviewer, Kami-Elf (a _DBZ_ fan, or just a coincidence? And Robin _will_ get more aggressive later on… _very_ aggressive, actually…); and to DarkMarkLv (your questions _shall_ be answered…); and last but not least, _again_ to Yami no Kaiba (I checked; you're right, "**prep**osition" is actually a typo; Robin gets a lot less whiny and a lot more crazy later on – wouldn't _you_ whine if the Bat was kicking your ass under the guise of "training"?; no, it's _nothing_ like _Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker_, although that is an _awesome_ movie…; and any coincidences with _Knightfall_ or _Outsiders_ comics are utterly innocent – I gave up reading _Outsiders_ two years ago because our stupid comic book store wouldn't get them in on a regular basis, just one every now and then, and I have only read _Knights'end_ of the _Knightfall_ saga; and lastly… Slade lowering himself to regular rape? My reading of Phoenix Skyborne's _Changes_ aside, I really wouldn't put it past him… if he was _real_, I mean…)

Woo! Sorry about that, but you're all such damn good reviewers I feel that I have to reply to all your questions and comments… -

Two chapters for y'all now… **Enjoy!**

Flight from Arkham

Robin's eyes fluttered open beneath his mask as his consciousness returned. His head was pounding and he felt sick and weak. He wondered where he was and sat up slightly, feeling something smooth slide off him as he did so.

He found himself on the deeply-set backseat of the Batmobile, curled up in a little niche in the black leather. The thing that had slid off him was a long black cape with a bat-shaped cowl attached; obviously Batman's. He shivered slightly and pulled the cape back around himself in an attempt to warm himself up. It was fairly dark in the Batmobile but he gradually became aware of pinpoints of light coming from the dashboard beyond the front seats. He also saw the large shape of Batman leaning over the lights, pressing buttons and adjusting screens.

And then he remembered.

"Batman, I didn't do it!" He said desperately, sitting bolt upright. Batman jumped and turned sharply to face him.

"You're awake," he acknowledged bluntly. He shook his head, which, Robin noticed, was still bat-like; the cape he had draped around himself was obviously a spare.

"Batman, _please_," he went on, determined to make his ex-mentor believe him, "please, I didn't do it. I didn't kill them. You have to believe me!"

Batman stared at him blankly.

"Pardon?"

"The Titans… the Titans are dead and you said that I killed them because I was like Slade but I _didn't!_"

Batman's blank expression didn't change.

"The Titans… are dead?" He asked, obviously as confused as his ex-sidekick was desperate.

Robin's own desperation faded into confusion.

"You… you said they were… I saw them, I…"

Batman burst out laughing, something so rare it rendered Robin speechless.

"You stupid… boy!" He spluttered between laughing. Robin blinked but waited until Batman's laughing fit had subsided, spending that surprisingly long time wriggling through the gap between the front seats to join his hysterical ex-mentor.

"Didn't you see the gas?" The Dark Knight asked, his tone serious again. Robin frowned as he settled back into the black leather passenger seat.

"Yeah… it was green, but-"

"Robin," Batman sighed. "Someone broke into the confiscated weapons vault during the break-out. They got hold of Scarecrow's fear gas and let it loose all over Arkham."

"I was…"

"Hallucinating," Batman finished bluntly. "I heard you screaming and by the time I had got to you, you had passed out."

"Oh." Robin couldn't think of anything else to add. Hallucinating? But it had seemed so real…

"You weren't the only one," Batman went on.

"I know," Robin replied. "I was with Two-Face when it got him. I managed to get him out of the area, but I couldn't do anything else with him."

Batman nodded approvingly.

"Good boy." He lowered his cowled head. "It got a lot of the police officers and several of the minor prisoners, plus a few more dangerous ones. The Mad Hatter and Killer Croc were both shrieking like banshees when I found them."

"Oh," Robin said again, still at an extreme loss for words. His gaze settled on the flashing dashboard.

"You know about fear gas, don't you?"

Robin looked up.

"Yeah, I guess. Makes you hallucinate about the Boogie Man, stuff like that."

_Or in my case_, _murdering my friends…_

"That's only half," Batman corrected reprovingly. "It feeds on your worst fear, the very deepest and darkest veneration hidden away within your soul. It preys on what your mind shies from."

Batman paused and Robin dared to breathe out; a tiny smile graced the Dark Knight's face.

"It's a new version, though, a modified hallucinogen adapted to its needs," he relented with a shrug and a grin. "The older version, yes, did make people think they were seeing monsters and ghosts, some of which were hardly frightening. But this _new _type…"

"Is more specific?"

"Exactly." Batman sighed heavily. "You know Jonathon Crane – Scarecrow – was a teacher, don't you?"

Robin nodded.

"Clever man," Batman went on. "Very clever; it's a shame his intelligence has gone to such waste. A few months ago, when Poison Ivy broke out of Arkham, he took advantage of the situation and escaped in the confusion. I tried to track him down but found my hands full with Ivy and also a Ra's Al Ghul case I was working on at the time. Then, of course-"

"I got involved and nearly died," Robin interrupted dryly. "So you keep reminding me."

Batman smiled thinly but refrained from commenting.

"Anyway, Scarecrow seized the opportunity to elude my attention and obviously spent his time developing a new type of fear gas. Around two weeks before the Joker incident, he struck City Hall while Mayor Hill was giving a speech on, of all things, Arkham's new security measures."

"I don't remember seeing that on the news," Robin said with a frown.

"You were in a coma after crashing your damn bike into a _truck_," Batman said flatly. "Of course you didn't see it."

"Oh. Right…"

"I was called in via the Bat-signal, and I turned his own gas back on him. He was carted off back to Arkham within the hour. His gas was collected up and locked away in the confiscated weapons vault until tonight."

It preyed on your deepest fear? Somehow… that was worse. It made it specific; his hallucination hadn't just been a random screw-up of the mind. Was his worst fear truly the thought of turning on his friends? Of hurting them, killing them? Of being like Slade?...

"Robin, are you alright?" Batman asked worriedly. "You've gone… pale."

Robin put a hand to his forehead and shook his head as though clearing it.

"Yeah, I'm fine…"

Batman looked unconvinced.

"What were you babbling about?" He asked suspiciously, peering hard at his ex-ward. "The Titans… being dead and you killing them? Only… you didn't really kill them, but I thought you did. What was that about, hmm?"

"Hallucination," Robin murmured evasively.

"So I gathered," Batman acknowledged dangerously. "Robin, I firmly believe that teenagers are entitled to their secrets, as are adults, and I'm not trying to deliberately pry things out of you. But-"

_Ah_, _yes. The Big "But"…You're in for it now_,_ Bird-boy._

"-I'd appreciate it if _for once_ you wouldn't keep things to yourself."

"It was nothing," Robin said firmly. "Just a little hallucination brought on by the fear gas. It just seemed vivid, that's all."

"Robin…" Batman sighed. "Look, I care about you, maybe even more now than ever because you're not under my supervision. If something's bothering you I want you to know you can tell me. You can count on my help if you need it, ok?"

Robin nodded.

"I know, I know…"

"Well… just make sure you don't get stuck in any more tight holes, ok? I'm not blaming you for what happened in there with the gas; that wasn't your fault. But please don't dwell on it, and for god's sake don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," Robin promised.

Batman rolled his eyes and pulled down his cowl.

"I'm going to have a pleasant few weeks, I can see," he said, his voice contradicting his words.

"What do you mean?" Robin inquired, looking at the screens that were still flashing and flickering.

"Everything went to pieces," Batman explained, not sounding too distressed or indeed surprised. "The gas got lots of police officers and several of the criminals had weapons. They all got away, every single one of them."

"_What!_" Robin stared at the Dark Knight. "Where were you!"

"On pick-up duty," Batman responded dryly. "Picking up _you_ and bringing you out here to the Batmobile. I couldn't leave you in there breathing that gas; the lack of air would have killed you."

Robin bit his lip.

"Sorry…" Was all he could say.

"Hmm… yes, well…" The Dark Knight looked a little embarrassed now; with his cowl down he couldn't hide it. "Arkham's empty. Although, it's not as bad as it seems…" He added, catching horrified look on the Boy Wonder's face.

"How could it be any worse!" Robin asked, his voice near hysterical.

"Well, on first thought you would expect every notorious criminal Gotham has to offer to have escaped, right?"

"Right," Robin agreed.

"Well, only a small minority was actually _in_ Arkham," Batman explained calmly. "Ra's Al Ghul is in the Middle East somewhere with his daughter Talia, I have no idea where Harley Quinn is –" At this point he glared at Robin, who promptly became terribly interested in his right green-gloved palm- "Poison Ivy is dead, Clayface is undergoing tests to try and rectify his condition, the Penguin escaped months ago, Catwoman is on parole… oh, the list goes on. It is to my belief that only a few major criminals were in the asylum tonight."

"Two-Face, right?"

"Among others. The Riddler, Scarecrow, Killer Croc, the Mad Hatter, Bane, Clock King…"

Robin swallowed, almost afraid to ask.

"The… Joker?"

Batman sighed.

"Unfortunately. He's No #1 on my priority list. The time before last when he got out he smile-gassed a kindergarten. However… well, you know the Joker. He's flamboyant; his crimes are never low-key. It shouldn't take too long for me to find him. After him my main targets will be Killer Croc and Bane. Scarecrow will be out of commission for a while; he'll need time to develop more gas."

Robin nodded.

"You and the Titans will need to be vigilant," Batman went on. "I've no doubt that some of them will flee over the Gotham-Jump border to try and escape me; you're a part of this as well, Robin. I expect Johnny Rancid and some of his friends from Arkham will go back to Jump."

"Great."

"Some might go to Metropolis," Batman mused, speaking more to himself by this point. "I'll have to alert the Justice League, of course, but I'm sure Clark will notice a sudden influx of Gotham-oriented villains."

Oh, Superman would notice alright. Kick their butts Big Time, too…

Batman suddenly flicked his cowl back up, securing it over his face, then started the engine, which ignited with a roar.

"Come on, I'll take you home," he said drolly. Robin nodded wordlessly as the Batmobile came to life.

He realised that the Titans would have their work cut out for them now, as would Batman. He neither did doubt that some of the escaped criminals would come to Jump in the hopes of escaping the Dark Stalker of the Gotham Night, namely Batman. All this meant, however, was a sudden steep spike in the crime rate, which no doubt meant more work, less sleep and less time to send Beast Boy on a mission to the nearest Walmart to stake out on ice-cream and pizza. Luckily Slade hadn't been getting bored recently, as was obvious by the lack of Robot Commando raids on Downtown Jump City at 2:00am. The last mildly interesting case the Titans had cracked had been a mere week after Starfire's return home from hospital following the "Joker Incident", as it was dubbed. In short the Amazing Mumbo had thought it a good idea to put on a "magic show" in the new mall, causing a lot of confusion and involving Starfire having knives thrown at her and Beast Boy, if not permanently, being turned into a rabbit against his will; it had been up to Raven, Cyborg and Robin himself to cut Mumbo's act short.

But that had been… how many weeks ago? Robin couldn't remember. Two, maybe? Three? Since then his time had been spent playing _Super Ninja Fury_ with Beast Boy and Cyborg, organising the Evidence Room and painstakingly alphabetising two year's worth of crime files, or using "working out in the gym" as a clever cover-up to go off on his own and brood for hours on end about Slade, fight patterns and techniques, Slade, Batman, Slade, the Titans as both a team and as friends, Slade, the recent events in Gotham City, and, of course, Slade.

And earlier, in Arkham Asylum, before he had passed out… He _had_ seen Slade, right? It hadn't just been the start of his hallucination? Pushing the hallucination itself out of his mind altogether, he wondered if it was even plausible for Slade to have been in Arkham. More to the point, _why _would he have been there? It wasn't like there was anything to steal or to gain.

Something else came into his mind at that point, something that he had spent the previous day writing a report on for the newly-alphabetised crime file drawer A-G. It had come under A, entitled "Azarath, Orb of". Jump City Museum had been subjected to a break-in two nights previous, with nothing but this mysterious orb being taken. The museum workers didn't seem too bothered when Beast Boy and Robin himself, the only two available Titans at the time the museum demanded an inquiry, had turned up to check out the crime-scene. No evidence, at least not anything that would be of any use to a forensic or chemical study. Neither Titan had established that it was a big deal, but had taken notes and gone through the regular motions of a comb-over. Only two things bothered Robin about the whole thing, and he had contemplated them as he waited on his R-cycle for Beast Boy, who was hitching a ride with him, as the shape-shifter made a detour into a gas station for some tofu ice-cream and soy-flavoured potato chips. One, the lack of evidence niggled him; the wires in the security devices had been expertly disabled in a way that would have put even Cyborg to shame. There were no fingerprints, footprints, stray hairs, or indeed _anything_ that was in any way forensic. The second thing that bothered him was the stolen item itself. From the description of the museums guides and security guards, it was a rock embedded in a piece of silver. That was it. It appeared to do nothing, and none of the workers could understand its value. From file pictures Robin failed to comprehend this too, and this was one of the things that made him question its theft. The other thing was its name. On first hearing the rock's title, he had thought it strangely familiar, and had consulted Beast Boy on the subject; the green shape-shifter too agreed on it's familiarity, but was unable to place where he had heard it before. Robin had later realised that "Azarath" was the first word of Raven's spell, the chant issued in both meditation and the calling upon of her powers.

He recalled filling her in on the details of the theft before retreating to his room to write the report; she had seemed pretty distraught, and then vague and distracted when he asked her if she was ok. He had seen very little of her since then, having been in Gotham all day today and in his room all day yesterday. However, he couldn't help but notice that she was, to put it mildly, distressed about the disappearance of the orb, establishing that she had some kind of connection to it. He knew, at least, that the dimension she was originally from was known as Azarath, as she herself had told him.

"You ok?"

Batman's voice cut into his chain of thought. Robin blinked and looked up.

"Sorry?"

"You're very quiet. Tired?"

Robin thought it best to play up to this assumption.

"Yeah… you worked me real hard today."

Batman smiled faintly.

"We're not even started yet," he promised. "I'm going to be busy these next few weeks following tonight's events, and so are you, but when things quieten down I'm going to put you through your paces until you get everything perfect."

Robin tried to smile back and failed. He suddenly genuinely felt tired, and could barely wait to get home to sprawl out on the couch with his friends and watch some low-budget zombie movie, hopefully with the accompaniment of popcorn, and maybe a glass of Coca-Cola, or, even better, Perrier, if Raven hadn't hidden it to prevent him from doing such a thing as stealing the only beverage she drank other than herbal tea.

"Robin?" Batman pressed more firmly, seeing his ex-ward going into another deep-thought zone that made him oblivious to anything else.

"Mmm?" Robin leaned back deeper into the leather seat, finding it difficult to even keep his eyes open.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"'Course I am," Robin answered lazily; the Batmobile's passenger seat was starting to become overwhelmingly comfortable. His eyes slid shut against his will and Batman smiled and shook his head as he steered the Batmobile through the night.

He realised he must have fallen asleep as he opened his eyes and felt the car wasn't moving. He looked across at Batman; his cowl was down once more and he was speaking into a two-way radio receiver to Commissioner Gordon.

"Alright, Jim… yes… yes, I'll get on it as soon as I get back… I might be a while, I'm in Jump City… it's a long story…"

Robin listened as Batman bid Commissioner Gordon farewell and replaced the receiver on the dashboard.

"Good, you're awake," he said simply. "I didn't want to wake you up. If I remember correctly, you didn't use to take very kindly to being woken up." He peered long and hard at the Boy Wonder. "You used to have a filthy temper when you were tired."

Robin grinned and shrugged.

"I've gotten over it. You get used to being woken up at odd hours of the night when you're a Teen Titan."

"I can imagine." Batman pushed a button on the dashboard and the opaque glass bubble slid back, allowing the night air to enter the car.

"Well, here we are," he went on. "Tower, sweet Tower."

"Thanks." Robin pulled off the spare cape Batman had draped around him and handed it back to it's owner. "Guess I'll see you soon for another beating, right?"

"You can count on it," Batman agreed nonchalantly. Robin nodded and made to get out of the car. Batman reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.

"Robin… you'll… you'll be alright, won't you?" He asked as his ex-ward turned to face him in surprise.

Robin blinked.

"Sorry?"

"About the hallucination, I mean. I've accepted that you don't want to tell me about it, maybe because you're afraid or embarrassed or whatever, but you seem so distracted. Promise me it won't drive you to do anything you'll regret."

"It won't," Robin said. "I won't do anything stupid, you have my word."

"And if you ever need my help for _anything_, or even if you just want to talk, don't let pride get in the way. You can call me, or even Alfred, and we'll listen to you. I know you're out on your own, and I know you're growing up, but we both still care about you. Costumed identities and super-teams aside, you're still my…"

"Sidekick?" Robin prompted.

"More than that."

Robin wracked his brain.

"Ward?"

"More."

Robin grimaced; dare he say it?...

"_Apprentice?..._"

Batman smiled and shook his head.

"Son," he said softly. "I'm not your real father; we both know that. But I care for you the way any father cares for his son. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I know."

Batman reached out and massaged Robin's dark hair in a rare display of affection.

"Be careful, ok? All of you, be careful."

Robin grinned.

"Hey, don't worry," he said brightly. "Alien, shape-shifter, telekinetic, half-robot and Batman's sidekick? We kick ass!"

"Higher skilled people than you have been killed on the job, Robin," Batman replied drolly. "Higher skilled and less arrogant."

Robin's grin didn't deteriorate.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but hanging around Raven will make you immune to that insult," he said happily.

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe she has a point?"

Robin stuck his tongue out at his ex-mentor and leapt out of the car.

"Thanks for a "fun" day!" He called as he ran away in the direction of Titans Tower. "Bye!"

Batman snorted in mingled disgust and indignation as he clicked the black bubble back into place.

"Don't worry", Robin had said, not even an hour after passing out in Arkham Asylum after exposure to Scarecrow's fear gas. Not even a month after the "Joker Incident", in the duration of which he had nearly been killed at least 10 times. Not even three months after Poison Ivy had nearly killed him.

_Oh_, _but I do worry_, _Robin_, Batman thought grimly as he revved the engine and plunged back into the night.

_And for good damn reason,_ _too_…

* * *

That was the last relatively… _nice_ bit. It goes a bit crazy from here on in, and… you _do_ all realise this is a trilogy, don't you? No kidding, this is a _huge_ storyline… Not that I'm trying to scare you off, it's just… don't expect any conclusions at the end of _this_, because there'll be a part 2, and a part 3… _DON'T STOP READING!_

There goes another tumbleweed for Narroch06 to kick into the Garden Mulcher 30… (do those even _exist?_)


	6. Dreams in Darkness

For all who enjoyed Robin's little freak-out in Arkham Asylum… this is for you. It's a bit nutty, but not like a Butter Finger or a Reese's Cup…

It's nutty in a nasty way…

Dreams in Darkness

"_Kill them…"_

_The command echoed through his mind as he walked down corridor after dark corridor, his movement effortlessly silent and shadow-like, his eyes somehow so accustomed to the blackness that he seemed to know where he was going. Adrenaline coursed through his body thicker than blood and the thud of his own heart was audible, rhythmic. He could feel a prickling at the back of his neck, perhaps spawning from the sense of excitement and anticipation he felt. But despite this excitement, he remained calm and silent as he had been trained. He knew better than to give himself away. _

_There they were, all four of them standing around in a loose circle discussing something. A familiar sight. But that was all they did; talk. He had no doubt that they were looking for him. Fine, but they wouldn't expect what they would find._

_He shifted a little in the shadows, causing his cape to rustle. The shape-shifter caught the noise and turned in the direction it had come from._

"_Hear something, B.B?" The half-robot, half-teen asked his friend. Beast Boy nodded his green head slightly. Cyborg looked grim._

"_Get ready, Titans," he ordered the three others with him. "It could be more of those robot commandos."_

_The alien girl nodded and her eyes and hands glowed green, but the pale girl pulled down her purple hood and shot her team-mates a very sceptical look._

"_It's him," she said softly. "I can sense him…"_

"_Then why does he not come out?" Starfire inquired, her voice shaking slightly. "We are worried about him. Why is he hiding from us?"_

"_I don't know…" Raven pulled her hood up again, casting shadow over her face. "Robin, we know you're there. Come into the light."_

"_Robin, you must come out!" Starfire cried. "If you are truly there, come here. We are worried about you!"_

_Hidden in the shadows he failed to answer them, but couldn't stop himself from smirking at their worried tones._

"_I don't think it's him, Raven," Cyborg said carefully. "This isn't like him. If he's not answering it means he's not there. It was probably just a rat B.B heard. C'mon, let's go look in the next wing…"_

_Cyborg turned to leave, followed closely by Beast Boy. Starfire and Raven both hesitated, then went after the boys._

_That's when he made his move._

"_Look, we'll find him, I prom-" Cyborg was cut off by a shrill scream from Starfire, who was at the back. He, Beast Boy and Raven turned sharply just in time to see the brightly-clothed form of Robin finish tying the Tamaranean girl up and kick her to one side._

"_Robin, what are you-" Raven didn't get to finish as Robin whipped around and came at her. He threw his entire weight into her, bringing them both crashing to the ground. She struggled beneath him, trying to toss him off her, but he suddenly seemed much stronger than usual and he soon had her completely pinned to the floor, unable to move. Her eyes glowed as she summoned her powers, but before she could finish her spell he had ripped something from the back of his belt and slapped it over her mouth, silencing her. Whatever it was, it was incredibly sticky and she couldn't wrench it off as he released her. He very calmly stood up and stepped away from her, admiring his handiwork, but was suddenly slammed to one side by something heavy and made of metal. He crunched against the wall and felt searing pain shooting through his ribs, but at the same time it was distant, as though not real. Something was definitely broken though, and he struggled to his feet clutching at his left side._

"_What's wrong with you, man?" Cyborg asked tantalisingly, his huge metal body tense and ready to defend. At his side a green tiger was crouched, growling savagely._

_Robin smiled._

"_Nothing's wrong," he said softly. "In fact, I feel better than I ever have before…"_

_Ignoring his broken ribs he suddenly darted forward, launched himself into a handspring and delivered a cracking blow to Cyborg's metal chest with his feet, sending the vast half-robot staggering backwards. He heard a roar from behind him as Beast Boy lunged; he quickly rolled to one side and felt a tugging on his cape as the tiger's claws ripped the black and yellow material into four ragged strips. He turned, but not quickly enough; he felt a dull spasm of pain shuddering through him as Beast Boy's claws plunged into his abdomen. He made a sound halfway between a groan and a gasp and staggered against the wall behind him, sliding down into a slumped sitting position as Beast Boy pulled his claws back out of his stomach. Within seconds the shape-shifter was back in human form, taking the Boy Wonder gently by the shoulders._

"_Oh, Robin, I'm sorry," Beast Boy said, his voice shaking with fright and horror. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I didn't realise you were so close… oh, man, I've really hurt you…"_

_Robin opened his eyes and grinned weakly._

"_S'okay," he muttered. Beast Boy shook his green head._

"_No, it's not," he said distractedly. "Let me just see how deep it is…" He started to lift up Robin's blood-soaked red shirt, but Robin put his hand under Beast Boy's chin and looked him right in his emerald eyes._

"_I said it was ok," he repeated savagely. He smiled horribly and gave a sudden jerk of his hand, snapping Beast Boy's head back with a sickening crack. Across the corridor Starfire screamed and Raven squealed, still gagged, as Beast Boy's lifeless form tumbled to the ground and lay face down, completely still._

"_You killed him…"_

_Robin looked up to see a livid Cyborg towering over him and shrugged._

"_Yeah, well…" He struggled to his feet, aware that Cyborg was watching his every move._

"_Robbie, what's the matter with you?" Cyborg asked desperately. "Look, I don't wanna fight you, man. I wanna help you. You… you didn't mean to kill Beast Boy-"_

_Robin snorted with laughter._

"_Don't kid yourself, Cy," he said mockingly. "You know perfectly well I killed him on purpose, and I'm going to kill you too."_

_Cyborg had barely opened his mouth to answer when Robin threw an uppercut at his metal jaw. It didn't take him long to recover, but by the time he had, Robin was behind him ripping open his circuit box._

"_Robin! Robin, don't do this, please don't-" Cyborg interrupted himself with a yell as Robin reached inside him and pulled out a handful of sparking wires and chips. Cyborg's brain/movement connection was annihilated and he crashed onto his back, completely immobile. Robin straddled him and sat on his chest, looking down at the half-robot extremely smugly._

"_Robin, please don't do this," Cyborg pleaded. "We're your friends…"_

"_Correction," Robin replied airily. "You were never my friends. You just held me back from being what I truly am. I should have seen it then, but I didn't. I was too blind and stupid, but I'm not anymore. I've been lifted up with new wings."_

"_And who gave you those damn wings!" Cyborg spat. "Slade!"_

_Robin smiled._

"_He's done more for me than you ever have," he said._

"_He's turned you into a monster," Cyborg argued. "Can't you see what he's done to you, Robin! He's poisoned you, made you into something you're not. He's made you into himself…"_

"_No more talking now, Cy," Robin said, his voice almost gentle as he reached to the back of his belt and took out his staff. He ran his other gloved hand over the glass dome protecting the circuits connected to Cyborg's brain, searching for a weak spot._

"_Robin, don't," Cyborg begged. "Please don't. We'll help you get back to normal, we know this isn't your fault…"_

"_I don't want to go back to normal," Robin sighed. "I like being a psycho." His fingers settled on a place near the top of the dome._

"_I hope you get electrocuted," Cyborg breathed savagely. Robin shrugged._

"_It'll be a laugh, I guess," he said flippantly. "Nighty night, Cy…"_

_He brought the retracted staff down like a stake, shattering the glass dome. Cyborg screamed as his former friend tore out these circuits too, terminating his system completely, killing him. Then his scream died as he did, all the light going out of his electronic system and then he lay as still and dead as the murdered Beast Boy._

_Robin didn't get time to celebrate though, as a shower of green energy exploded at his feet, forcing him to leap backwards off Cyborg. He looked up and saw Raven and Starfire standing next to each other; Raven was still gagged but he realised it had been a mistake to leave her able to move, as she had obviously untied Starfire. Still, two down…_

_He allowed his staff to shoot out to full extent and leapt into the shadows. The dark offered him a sense of invisibility, as Batman had taught him to be very good in the dark, stealthy and silent._

"_Where did he go!" Starfire cried, turning in a full frantic circle. Her hands were glowing with orbs of green energy, ready to pump him full of high-powered starbolts. Raven too was ready, but she was useless without the use of vocality; her telekinetic abilities relied on her spell. He knew he could pick them both off at his leisure, as he had exploited both their weaknesses._

_Raven's was her inability to use her powers._

_Starfire's was him._

_The alien girl was unwittingly coming closer and closer to him, not realising the danger she was in. He waited until she had turned her back on him, then stepped into the light and cracked her across the back of the head with his staff, sending her sprawling face-first to the floor. She didn't get up but Robin knew she was just senseless, not dead. It took more than that to kill Starfire._

_He heard the swishing of Raven's cape behind him and turned, catching her fist centimetres from his face. He twisted her wrist and heard her cry in pain, then kicked her backwards against the opposite wall. She pushed away from it but suddenly he was in front of her, extremely close to her. He reached up, took hold of the tape he had stuck over her mouth and sharply ripped it off. She opened her mouth to unleash her powers on him but her spell died on her tongue as he closed in on her, pulled down her hood and kissed her hard, pushing her against the wall. As he had hoped she fell into it, closing her eyes and thrusting her tongue into his, her hands caressing his back and neck and shoulders and hair. She didn't notice him take his hands from her waist and instead go to his belt, nor did she notice him taking his grappling hook from it. And just as she didn't realise that his fiery, passionate kiss was a mere distraction, she didn't realise that he was slipping the strong cord around her throat even as he so lovingly kissed her. She may have known that he was going to kill her, but she didn't know how close he was to doing it._

_He pulled back from her, a nasty little smirk playing on his lips. Raven glared at him, her amethyst eyes sparkling with an enraged flame._

"_You arrogant b-"_

_She didn't get to finish as he suddenly jerked the cord as hard as he could, strangling her. Her scream came out choked and black sparks exploded from her body, some of them shooting through him painfully. But he knew he couldn't let go of the cord until she was dead. It took a surprisingly long time for her to die, and when she finally slumped lifelessly in his arms the cord was still around her neck, bloody and slicing deep into her pale flesh._

"_Poor Raven…" He could see himself reflected in the tiny jewel on her ashma chakra. Despite being kicked around a bit his hair was still immaculate. Shame he couldn't say the same for his punctured abdomen or broken ribs. Stupid Cyborg… Stupid Beast Boy… _

_He heard a moan behind him as Starfire came to her senses; throwing Raven to one side he turned to find the Tamaranean slowly getting to her knees, rubbing the back of her skull. It wouldn't do to be cruel to Starfire as he had been to the others. Starfire was more dangerous when she was frightened or angry, so the best thing to do was lull her into a false sense of security, a step higher than what he had done with Raven. He just had to act… normal, concerned, human. He had to act like the old Robin, not the dark incarnation he had since become._

"_Star, you ok?" He sauntered over to her, trying to force himself to sound worried; it was difficult now that he no longer gave a toss about her. He knelt down beside her and put his hand on her shoulders. She flinched and shied away from him, uttering something in shrill Tamaranean._

"_Hmm?" He was almost amused by her. Even now she made him laugh by just being Starfire._

"_Stay away from me," Starfire said, her voice shaky but her tone firm. "You are not Robin. Robin would never hurt his friends."_

_Ah, Starfire. So naïve and so gullible. She truly believed that he wasn't the real thing, couldn't and wouldn't believe that the real Robin would be capable of being so evil and malicious. _

"_Of course I'm Robin, Star," he said chirpily. He reached out for her again and she shot a starbolt at him, making him sharply withdraw his hand. He frowned; this was going to be more difficult than he had first thought. He straightened up again and retreated back a few steps._

"_Look, I'll go back here if it makes you feel safer," he tried again. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I would never hurt you, Starfire."_

"_But… but you hurt our friends," Starfire said softly. "You killed them. You cannot be Robin…" She started to cry, tears pouring down her cheeks and off her chin._

_Paydirt…_

_He came onto his knees again beside her and took her into his arms, letting her cry into his shoulder. She clung to him as though she would never let him go and he knew he had her._

"_It's ok, Star," he soothed. "It'll be alright, I promise. I'm not going to hurt you…"_

_Sucker…_

"_Why did you do this?" Starfire sobbed. "Why did you kill them?"_

_Robin shrugged._

"_Felt like it," he said flippantly. He felt Starfire try to pull away from him at this but he held her tight to his chest, refusing to let her go. She whimpered a little in fright and he smoothed her hair reassuringly._

"_It's different with you," he went on, the lie coming so easily to his tongue. "I wouldn't hurt you, Star, you know I wouldn't."_

"_Let me go," Starfire pleaded, starting to cry again. "Please, Robin, you are frightening me…"_

_He released her and got to his feet, taking her hands and pulling her with him._

"_I can't believe you just said that," he said, smiling faintly. "When have I ever frightened you?"_

_He looked into her green eyes, huge with fright and sadness and glittering with tears both fallen and unfallen. He squeezed her hands reassuringly and pulled her right into him._

"_I love you," he whispered. He kissed her before she could respond, distracting her as he had done with Raven while he went to his belt for a weapon. The humble birdarang came into his hand and he smirked around the kiss as he felt it's sharp edge. His arm found it's way around her slim waist, feeling the arch of her back beneath his gloved fingers, just as her hands came to his hips and then slid conspicuously onto his rear. He pushed himself harder against her, feeling his bloody midriff sticking to her bare one, ensuring that he had her attention 100 as she ran her hands wildly over his body. Then he gasped a little in pain as she accidentally touched the puncture wounds in his belly; she pulled away from him as she realised what she had done. He smiled sunnily at her, a perfectly normal smile that had once graced his face so often._

"_You hurt me," he said, his voice bouncy. Starfire blinked and tried to step back from him, her fear rightfully returning. However, his arm was still around her waist and he pulled her back in right against him. He put his lips to hers again but didn't kiss her, and in the close contact she saw his smile slowly transform into a smirk._

"_Guess I should return the favour…" She felt his lips moving against hers as he spoke; he was so close, she could easily blind him with beams from her eyes but she was too terrified of him to even breathe… _

_She screamed piercingly as he tore the wing of the birdarang across her throat, cutting her cry short; he moved down and slashed her once, twice across her chest, her alien blood spattering on his face and up his arms, her purple crop top torn and bloody. The birdarang found another mark and he cut deep into her thighs, feeling a terrible delight welling up inside him as he killed the Tamaranean. She wasn't screaming as he had severed her wind-pipe, but tears were streaming down her face, splattered with her own blood. And despite everything she was still clinging to him, clutching the front of his red shirt in dying hands. He was hacking into her stomach now, slicing deep gashes into her perfect flat mid-section, one of his hands twisted cruelly in her red hair, now matted with her own blood. How he wished he had an axe to hack her to bits more effectively, though. He paused, studying her; she was still alive, if only barely. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, brought his hand back and plunged the birdarang into her abdomen. She blanched and her green eyes widened, then her hands fell limp and released his shirt and he knew she was dead. He disdainfully dropped her to the floor where she lay a few feet away from Raven, then cast his gaze around, smiling at the devastation he had single-handedly wrought. Cyborg was still sparking slightly but all four of them were undeniably dead._

"_That's my boy."_

_Slade came out of the shadows and placed his hands on his apprentice's shoulders._

"_That was excellent," he continued. "Cruel. Heartless. Malicious." He touched Robin's dark hair affectionately. "I'm very proud of you."_

_Robin smiled._

"_Thankyou. I enjoyed it."_

"_I know you did. They cannot try and save you now."_

"_I don't need saving."_

_Slade squeezed his shoulders slightly._

"_I know. You're finally where you belong. Not with the Titans. Not with Batman. With me. We're so very much alike, Robin; we're two of a kind…"_

Robin jerked awake and sat up, breathless and soaked in cold sweat, his chest heaving. His sheets were clinging to his bare torso and his hair was tousled, evident of severe tossing and turning. He looked wildly around, the dense blackness closing in on him, his head pounding. He put his hands to his forehead, feeling how hot he was, and yet he was shivering. He felt terrible, confused, wanting to lie back and calm down, think through what had happened, sort out his mind, but his brain was in conflict and as much as he wanted to sink back onto the bed, he also couldn't bear the thought of it. He threw off his covers and got out of bed, feeling the cold air hit him; he moved to the doorway, slid back the panel and stepped into the dark hallway beyond. His actions were mindless, as though some unthinking force was driving him as he wandered down the dark corridor. He was like the undead in the way he swung the bathroom door open and turned on the light, didn't care that it blinded him as he crossed to the sink. And as calmly as was possible he bent over it and threw up, the horrible sensation and sour taste like a slap in the face. He straightened up again, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and turned on the cold tap, throwing water onto his face to clean himself up and washing out the sink. Then he reached for the glass beside the toothbrush rack, filled it and washed out his mouth, and with it washing out any traces of the unreal world he had been in mere seconds ago. He replaced the glass and leaned against the mirror above the sink, his eyes closed and his breathing slowly returning to normal. It was a hot night, as was evident by the fact that he was only wearing boxer shorts, but he was shivering as though it was the dead of winter. His eyes opened again behind his mask and he looked at his reflection. Wet, his hair all over the place, but certainly not bloody. He sighed heavily, hanging his head in despair.

Just a dream. Another freaky, twisted, vivid goddamn _dream_…

_Get a grip_, _Bird-boy…Ok_,_ bad dream_,_ spawned from hallucination earlier. No big deal. Right?..._

He wished he could believe what he was telling himself. It made perfect sense. But it still terrified him. It had been so _real_; he had truly felt that terrible joy when his dream-self had killed the Titans, almost felt the pain of his broken ribs, his wounded stomach. It had been unlike any other dream he had ever had, as though he had entered a parallel universe where things were obscure, yes, but very real indeed. And worst of all seemed to be this repeating belief that he and Slade were two of a kind. But it wasn't true, he could never be so cruel and evil as Slade, as his dream-self had been. And yet, somehow, his mind had conjured up that entire brutal scene all by itself, without any of his input, and made it horribly accurate. That sick tableau was there somewhere, as though waiting to be acted out for real. If he was capable of such horrible things in dreams, why should he not be capable of them in the real world?

He _was_, he knew. In this normal state of mind he wouldn't, but that didn't change the fact that he _could_. The dream-Robin had exploited his friend's weaknesses, as he had under his pretence of Red X. He had kissed both Raven and Starfire, as the real Robin had done. Oh, he was capable of it all right. He just wished he could go back to the blissful ignorance of it.

He went back into the hall, flicking off the bathroom light, and wandered back to his room. He couldn't go back to sleep, he knew he wouldn't be able to. What he wanted was a distraction, something to take his mind off the dream until he was no longer too frightened and sickened by it to think it through properly. He hunted around his room for his "R" motif shirt, found it under his desk and pulled it on, leaving the neckline unbuttoned. The heat had returned to his body and he was no longer shivering, and so without further thought he left his room and padded down the hall to the elevator. He put himself down a level and stepped out, heading for the gym. He went in and slid the panels closed behind him, then made straight for the wooden training dummy he usually sparred with. Funny how an oddly-shaped piece of wood could force him into a mindless, aggressive routine of martial arts. He was hitting it harder than usual, and in the absence of his boots and gloves it really hurt, but he didn't care. He wanted it to hurt; he _deserved_ it…

"I didn't know robins were night birds."

His stomach twisted unpleasantly as he heard Raven's voice behind him. Immediately a fleeting image of him strangling her came into his head and his rhythmic hitting pattern faltered, then stopped altogether.

"Go away, Raven," he said between gritted teeth, not turning to face her. He simply couldn't look at her, knowing that if he did he would see her dying.

Raven snorted.

"I shouldn't have said anything," she said icily. "I've been standing watching you for about five minutes and you didn't notice."

"Go away," Robin repeated, this time more firmly. He started up his pattern again, harder still, just to make a point.

She winced as she heard the thuds issuing from the dummy, knowing that he was hurting himself.

"Why are you hitting it so hard?" She inquired, coming closer to him. No answer, but he continued to really whack that dummy.

"You'll hurt yourself," she said coolly, getting irritated at his ignorant manner.

"Good." His tone was dismissive and cold. Raven scowled and pulled down her hood; underneath her long purple cloak she was wearing a silk nightgown of tie-dye pattern sapphire and azure blue. She noticed how scantily clad he was – just that red "R" shirt and boxers – and couldn't help but sneak a look at the latter. They were white, and to her surprise and amusement they had cute little cartoon robins printed all over them. She smirked.

"Nice underwear," she complimented him. He stopped again and threw her a quick but filthy look. She sighed irritably.

"What are you all moody about now, then?" She asked offhandedly.

"Nothing," he answered sharply, snapping a hard kick at the dummy. She heard him murmur "Ouch" under his breath as his foot connected with the wood. She bit her lip as she watched him dismiss the pain and kick the dummy again and again, each time evidently hurting him more and more. She put her hand out towards him.

"Do you want me to-" She started.

"I want you to go away!" Robin interrupted angrily, still refusing to look at her. Raven blinked.

"What's the matter with you!" She snapped. "Why are you being so rude to me?"

"Fine," Robin said icily. "_Please_ go away, Raven."

She simply couldn't understand why he didn't want to be anywhere near her, why he couldn't bear to look at her…

"Why are you down here?" He asked when she didn't move, reverting back to hard slicing across the wood.

"I heard you being sick," Raven answered snippily. "The bathroom is right next to my bedroom and I was meditating. I was worried about you, and then I heard you using the elevator so I followed you down here to see what you were doing."

"Well, now you know what I'm doing," Robin reasoned coldly, "so if you would please _leave_."

His temper was shooting skyward like a NASA rocket and she seemed to sense it.

"Why don't you come and meditate with me?" She offered. "It's calmed you down before."

"I prefer to work off my anger like this, thanks."

Raven frowned.

"What are you angry about?" She asked incredulously.

"Nothing."

"You must be-"

"I said it was _nothing_."

She watched him hit the dummy again and her own anger started to mount. She reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist.

"Robin, if you would just-"

"DON'T!" He yelled at her, twisting his wrist and hitting her on her right shoulder, knocking her onto her back. He withdrew his hand and looked at it, as though confused, then looked down at her, utterly shocked and horrified

"Raven, I'm… oh, jeez… Raven…"

She sat up and wrenched her hood back over her face.

"Alright, point taken," she said coldly. "You want me to leave."

"Raven, I…" He trailed off, his voice failing him.

"You don't have to say anything," Raven spat. "I'm going…"

A black vortex appeared on the gym floor beneath her and she sank through and disappeared.

Robin just stood there, his hand still slightly raised.

_He had hurt her_.

Maybe not badly. He hadn't strangled her, killed her. But he had still hit her, let his temper get the better of him and lashed out at her. It wasn't her fault he had had that dream; it was his.

Was it a dream… or an omen? Was he destined to become his so-called "dream-self"? Was this the beginning of the tainting of his soul by an evil that refused to be repressed any longer? Were he and Slade really… two of a kind?

"Raven… I'm sorry…"

He came onto his knees, holding on to the dummy he had been venting his anger on mere moments before, and leaned against it, his eyes closed and silent tears running down his face.

He didn't want to become Slade, he had been through this before, and had had dreams before that he was destined to follow in Slade's footsteps. But now he felt that maybe…

…Maybe there was nothing left for him to be.

* * *

Yes, the boy officially has a screw loose… Or _does_ he?… Is this merely another part of the prophecy, a part with a hidden meaning?… And despite all of Robin's fears and frustrations concerning Slade, is the masked villain really… well, the bad guy after all?…

Let me know what you all think, and next chapter(s) up ASAP!


	7. From Arkham With Love

OMG! I have noticed something incredibly clever on _Nevermore _(_TT_ Season One)! It could be a coincidence, of course, as actually I would be surprised if WB thought that far ahead, but it is clever nonetheless; you know when "Sad Gray Raven" leads Cy and BB through the maze, and the whole episode is basically about Trigon and Raven's dark side and _blahblahblah_, right? Well, when they come to the finish of the maze, Raven says "That's the **_end_**". Of course, she means it literally, as in the "end of the maze", but is it possibly meant in _another_ way? Possibly referring to **_Trigon actually being_** "The End"?

Sorry. I was watching _Nevermore_ (a clever name in itself, although WB would never admit they stole it from Poe) the other day and I heard Raven say it and something clicked and I started shrieking and squeaking and I think everybody thought I had gone mad…

Um, _anyway_… Thanks for all the reviews, guys! - And glad that's cleared everything up for you, Yami no Kaiba.

So, once again; to YamiTai (no, Robin _won't_ turn evil, I promise; "psycho" is another matter entirely… And I love Ivy too, even though I killed her off OO); to DarkMarkLv (I never said Slade _wasn't_ bad; he's just not as bad as he'd like to think… _bless_…); to Phoenix Skyborne (well, where would the fun be without a freaky dream, huh?); to Quinn and His Quill (how did the Batmobile get onto Titans Island? Uh, the same way the T-car or Robin's R-cycle do, I would imagine…); to AutumnDynasty (the original proof-reader for _Asylum_, I might elaborate! And all who like _Tales of Symphonia_ should read _Katz o' 100 Tales_! It's… cute! -); to Yami no Kaiba (who has given me more reviews than anyone else! - Glad you like Robin's twisted mind, although _Haunted_ sure does back me up on that, y'know…); and to the rather randomly-entitled Le Squirrel, who signed Ch 1 (if you get this far…). You haven't given up on me, have you, Narroch06 and KamiElf?…

Ok, just one chappie tonight, but I'll get more up soon. _And this one actually has the Teen Titans in it!_

**Whoo-hoo!**

* * *

From Arkham With Love

"He's up to something," Beast Boy murmured as he and Cyborg peeped around the kitchen doorframe.

"Definitely," Cyborg agreed, frowning.

They both knew Robin would kill them if he realised they were spying on him, but neither of them could deny that he was acting strangely. Vague, dismissive, moody and altogether irritable. Warning signs the entire team had come to recognise, all pointing towards the assumption he was "up to something". He got like this when Slade was on the agenda, particularly, but his behaviour had become weird when faced with Poison Ivy and the "Joker Incident" too.

"What y'all think's eatin' him?" Cyborg whispered. Beast Boy shrugged.

"Dunno." He yawned, advertising his pointed teeth. "This is getting boring, though."

"Mm hmm," Cyborg agreed. He could do little else than agree, of course; Robin was sitting at the kitchen table with his nose in a book and seemed completely immersed. He had a bowl of tortilla chips on the table beside him and reaching for one to put it in his mouth or turning the page were the only movements he made.

"What's he reading?" Beast Boy inquired. Cyborg squinted and his mechanical eye flashed.

"Can't really see," he said. "Something by Edgar Allen Poe, I think."

Beast Boy snorted.

"Great, just what we need; another Raven. I swear she's brainwashed him or something…"

"It looks like one of her books," Cyborg went on. "I wonder if she knows he has it…"

They looked at each other briefly, and Beast Boy sighed.

"I think we're at our lowest, Cy," he stated. "We're discussing where Robin stole his book from."

"You wanna go on _Super Ninja Fury_?" Cyborg asked. Beast Boy nodded and they turned on their heel to leave. A slight shifting noise met their ears and they both stopped dead; within seconds they were both back in their hiding place.

"What's he doing?" Beast Boy asked frantically.

"Watch," was all Cyborg said in reply; so they did both watch Robin as he suddenly snapped his book shut and leaned over the table, his head buried in his arms. He sighed heavily and Cyborg and Beast Boy frowned at each other.

"Should we go and see if he's ok?" Beast Boy asked. Cyborg shook his head.

"No, leave him. He'd be really annoyed if he knew we've been watching him."

No sooner had the half-robot said this than Robin sat up straight again, scraped back his chair, got up and went to the fridge. He swung it open and sceptically scanned the contents, then reached in and withdrew a half-full carton of milk.

"_What_ is he doing?" Cyborg whispered incredulously. "He doesn't even _like_ milk."

This statement was soon amended as Robin leaned against the counter, tipped his head back and started drinking the milk straight from the carton. It was like he was timing himself to see how fast he could down it all, as it was dribbling down his chin and onto his front and the floor. He paused for breath, wiped his mouth on his glove, and then drained the rest of it, tossing the empty carton into the bin when he had finished with a perfect arching shot.

Beast Boy and Cyborg just continued to stare at him from around the doorframe, completely in shock. Cyborg had been right; Robin _hated_ milk, had done since they had made him drink it five times a day in the hospital following his motorcycle crash. He was wiping his mouth again on the wrist of his right glove, then looked down at himself and saw he was covered in milk. At first he appeared confused, as though wondering how it had got there; then he started to laugh, so hard that he ended up clutching the work-counter for support.

"I was wondering when this day would come," Cyborg whispered, half-awed.

"What day?" Beast Boy asked, his eyes still on the hysterical Boy Wonder.

"The day he went completely round the bend," Cyborg finished grimly. "Guess I better go call the loony-bin…"

Beast Boy blinked.

"You're not serious, are you?" He inquired. Cyborg frowned.

"Does he look all there to you, B.B?" He asked the shape-shifter. "He's two circuits short of a hard-drive, that one."

"You mean two bats short of a belfry," Beast Boy corrected. "Jeez, Cy, what're we gonna do with him? Do you think he's really gone completely loopy?"

"I'm ok, you know."

Cyborg and Beast Boy jumped, both turning to find Robin standing with his arms folded and a scowl on his face. Contrary to being mad, he seemed thoroughly all there; well, as near to being all there as he usually was.

"There'll be no need for a straightjacket," he continued icily.

"Wait a second," Beast Boy started, pointing accusingly at the Titans' leader. "You were just… you were over there and now… you're not."

Robin raised his eyebrows.

"Gee, you sure do give Sherlock Holmes a run for his money," he retorted nastily, his tone dripping in sarcasm. He pushed past the shocked Beast Boy, making to leave, but suddenly Cyborg was in front of him.

"What's wrong with you, man?" He asked. Robin felt his heart _thunk_; the dream-Cyborg had asked him the same thing…

"Nothing," he muttered, looking at the floor. He would look anywhere but at Cyborg, or Beast Boy either. Like Raven last night, he _couldn't_ look at them without seeing Cyborg dismantled and sparking, Beast Boy's broken neck…

"I'm going to my room," he murmured. "Let me past, Cy…"

"Not until you tell us what's wrong," Cyborg reasoned firmly. "Why are you acting all weird?"

"No reason," Robin said evasively. "I'm sorry for being a jerk. I'd like to go now, please…."

He easily ducked under Cyborg's arm but Beast Boy darted forward and caught the back of his cape.

"Oh no you don't," the shape-shifter told him sharply. "You didn't answer us."

Robin didn't even bother turning around.

"I don't have to tell you everything," he said icily.

"No," agreed Cyborg, "but that's the thing, Robin; you don't tell us _anything_ at all. You brood on it by yourself and then you form some break-neck plan that always fails, and we have to come and save the day because you've gotten yourself up to the neck in trouble. And you know what? It could all be avoided if you'd just tell us _half_ of what's going through your mind!"

"Shut up," Robin replied softly. "Just shut up, ok, Cy? You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know precisely what I'm talking about!" Cyborg snapped, losing his temper. He grabbed hold of Robin's shoulders in his huge metals hands and forced him to face him. "I'm talking about _you_! You're so damn arrogant, you think you can do whatever the hell you want. Whaddaya think we are, _back-up_! We're a _team_ but you treat us like some kind of chorus-line while you're the star. This whole leader-thing has completely gone to your head, it doesn't make you any better than us; it doesn't give you the right to just shun us as soon as Slade comes on the scene because you have issues with the guy! We've all got powers and you haven't, so, y'know, wake up and smell the coffee, Wonder Boy; you're _not _all that wonderful!"

"Mm," Robin murmured in reply. He wriggled a bit in Cyborg's grip. "Cy, you're hurting me…"

"So that's it, man?" Cyborg asked him. "That's the only response we're gonna get out of you?"

"Robin, you're our friend," Beast Boy added. "We don't wanna see you get hurt."

Robin sighed.

"You don't understand," he said defeatedly.

"We understand perfectly," Cyborg said dangerously. "It's _you_ that doesn't understand, even after I've just spelled it out for you that you're an arrogant jerk."

Robin was starting to get irritated now.

"I don't need this," he said snippily. "I don't need you insulting me. Let me go."

"So you can what!" Cyborg demanded. "Go off and make yourself some cosy little nest somewhere so that you can brood in peace?"

"Big on the bird acronyms," Robin retorted icily. "Why don't you go and pester Raven instead?"

"Because Raven's not a jumped-up little psychopath!" Cyborg yelled, finally snapping. Beast Boy flinched.

"Cy-"

"Shut it, B.B," Cyborg snapped. Beast Boy was quiet.

Cyborg looked back at Robin, who was studying the floor, tight-lipped and scowling.

"Are you going to say anything?" He asked angrily.

"What's there to say?" Robin answered. "What do you care what the "Not-so-wonderful arrogant jerk" thinks?"

"What _do_ you think?" Cyborg pressed. "Is _any_ of this getting through to that screwed-up brain of yours?"

Robin shrugged, still staring intently at the floor. He was starting to feel sick, probably from the milk, but also from the dream, which was casting fleeting horrible images through his mind like an old flickering movie. His brain _was_ starting to feel kind of screwed-up.

"_Why won't you look at me!_" Cyborg demanded, grasping hold of Robin's hair as the Boy Wonder tried to pull away.

"Cy, don't," Robin snapped, trying to tug Cyborg off, the result being extremely painful. He wouldn't look, he _couldn't _look… He kicked his leg out and managed to sweep Cyborg off balance, resulting in the two of them crashing to the floor. Cyborg landed on top of him, knocking the breath from his chest, and they continued to wrestle while Beast Boy tried to drag them apart, yelling at them to stop.

"Oh, may I join your game?"

The three boys froze mid-pile-on; Cyborg had Beast Boy in a head-lock under one arm and the shape-shifter was trying to bite through the protective glass plate over his circuits, while the half-robot had his other vast hand around Robin's neck but was suffering from a fist to the jaw from the smaller Titan pinned underneath him.

Starfire was leaning over them, her green eyes squeezed shut happily and her hands clasped together. Her feet were hovering a few inches off the floor. Her eyes opened when they failed to answer her.

"Please may I join in?" She asked again. "Is it not called the "Piling-on"? I wish to play too."

"Actually, Starfire, we were just finished," Cyborg said, recovering first. He released Beast Boy and Robin, then stood up, dragging the two shorter boys with him. Starfire looked disappointed.

"Oh…" Her eyes brightened again. "I have the post!" She produced three letters from the back of her belt. Robin saw this as an opportunity to flee and was about to slope off.

"There is one letter for the residents of Titans Tower in general," Starfire said happily, "and there is one for you, Cyborg, about a subscription to a magazine of cars." She handed both of the previous letters to Cyborg. "Oh, and there is a letter for you, Robin," she added as she saw him sidling away.

Robin blinked and turned to her, again not looking directly at her. She was the one he felt the worst about.

"Really?"

She nodded and held it out to him. He took it, frowning, and looked at the envelope. On it was scrawled: _Robin the Boy Wonder_,_ Titans Tower_,_ Titans Island_,_ Jump City_. The stamp was also stuck on crooked and there was a very bad drawing of a bat in the corner.

"Ok, thanks, Star," he said vaguely, wandering away with the letter clutched in his hand.

"Um, Robbie…"

Robin turned back to see Cyborg coming after him.

"Look, I'm sorry, ok?" He apologised. "There was no call for any of that."

Robin shrugged.

"S'okay," he murmured, looking at his feet. "I'm sorry too."

"We cool, then?"

"Ice," Robin replied, more to get Cyborg off his case than anything else. He hesitated, then walked off down the corridor without another word.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Lord of Looneyville has left the building," Beast Boy said ala Elvis spokespeople as he, Starfire and Cyborg watched Robin make his way through the front room and leave.

"Why is he acting strangely?" Starfire inquired. Cyborg shrugged.

"Dunno, but you just missed the ultimate Battle of the Egos, Star," Beast Boy supplied.

"Stuff a sock in it, B," Cyborg said sharply. "C'mon, how about that _Super Ninja Fury_ match? You can play too, Star."

He led the way into front room and made for the couch.

"That guy should _so_ change his name," Beast Boy stated, sitting down and picking up a handset.

"To what?" Cyborg asked, following suite and gesturing for Starfire to sit down next to him.

"Another superhero persona," Beast Boy said. "Robins are supposed to be cheerful and Christmassy; at least Raven matches her name."

Cyborg shrugged.

"What do you suggest?"

Beast Boy scowled.

"The Incredible Sulk…"

Robin re-read the letter for the fifth time as he slid open the panel to his bedroom, his frown unmoving. It was from Batman. Well, it was _supposed_ to be from Batman.

He went to his desk and sank into his chair, feeling the warmth of the sun intensified through his window as it fell on his body and weaved broken patterns of light across the desk's surface. As was Slade's assumption, the Boy Wonder was indeed a born detective, but even if he hadn't been, he would have seen a mile off that this letter wasn't from Batman. He scanned down it again, making a mental list of the faults.

_Dear Robin…_

Fault #1 - Batman _never_ wrote "dear".

_Come to Arkham Asylum tonight at midnight._

Fault #2 - "Asylum" was spelt incorrectly and scribbled out; Batman _never _spelt anything wrong, and if he did he would scrap the entire letter and write it out again.

Fault #3 - Batman was precise, and "tonight at midnight" was technically wrong. Midnight was actually the first minute of morning, and Batman would never make a mistake like that.

_We have stuff to discuss._

Fault #4 - Batman would never use slang such as "stuff".

_Come tonight_…

Fault #5 - Repetition of earlier command, another thing Batman simply didn't do. He said things but once.

_And come alone._

Fault #6 - Batman wouldn't insist that his ex-sidekick meet with him alone; he would wordlessly expect it.

_From Batman_.

Fault #7 - "From" was too familiar; Batman never wrote things like "love" or "yours sincerely".

Fault #8 - If the letter truly _was_ from Batman to his ex-ward, then he would have signed it "Bruce", not his caped alter-ego.

There were other things that caught his attention too, mainly the fact that the stamp was crooked; Alfred always stamped and addressed Bruce's letters, and he had stamp-sticking down to a science. And in this instance, the letter and envelope were written in the same writing, which was neither Bruce's blocky scribe nor Alfred's neat fancy one, strong evidence, of course, that Batman hadn't written the letter or had Alfred write it for him. On the contrary, the writing was untidy, with smudge-marks adorning the page by someone not used to writing with an ink-pen, and the paper was cheap and flimsy, not the thick expensive stuff lying in reams in Bruce's study. One last thing was the badly-drawn bat decorating the envelope. Not Bruce's style, to say the least, but in any case, Bruce could draw pretty good. Once, years ago, Robin remembered Bruce showing him his original designs for the Batsuit. Some of them had been a bit far-out, but the drawings themselves had been very good, neatly done in ink, expertly shaded and labelled. Batman certainly wasn't one to draw on his letters, but if he was, Robin reasoned, his effort would have been far better than this scribbly little thing. It was almost as if whoever had actually written this letter was doing everything within their power to convince the Boy Wonder that the Dark Knight was the author.

And not doing a very good job of it.

So, unless Bruce had suddenly had a lobotomy, the Caped Crusader _hadn't_ written this letter.

_Robin,_

_We need to talk. Midnight at Arkham Asylum. See you then._

_Bruce._

He nodded as he ran it over in his head. Yeah, that's what it should have sounded like. That was _real_ Bruce Wayne literature. Not this ridiculous effort.

Regardless of which, _someone_ wanted to talk to him. Very badly, it seemed, that they would go to the length of pretending to be Batman simply to lure him there. Meaning, of course, that they wanted his guard down.

Fine. He'd go. If this mysterious perpetrator had gone to so much trouble, who was he to disappoint them? But he wasn't going to be kicked around, if that was what they were hoping for. He'd turn up teamless, as his mystery "pen-pal" had insisted, but not weaponless.

Cyborg's words echoed through his head about not telling them anything; Batman had had this same discussion with him. But he didn't care. They all thought he had flipped; maybe he had. He had no idea why he had suddenly expressed a desire to drink that milk, or why he had felt like reading Edgar Allen Poe's _The Fall of the House of Usher_. He didn't like milk or the works of Poe. But he had become accustomed to the fact that he did things sometimes that had no meaning, like leaping about in a thunderstorm in the middle of the night (from _Robin Goes To Hollywood_. Don't ask…), or chasing after Poison Ivy when he was quite clearly under her spell and should have known better. Back then, he should have told them; he had almost died because he hadn't. But for some reason he wanted to distance himself from them, maybe because it made it easier to ignore the dream or the inner terror he felt at his inevitable transformation into something he didn't want to become. Maybe because he hoped it wouldn't feel so bad when he eventually turned on them.

This was, as far as he was concerned, his problem and his fight; the letter was addressed to him and had stated for him to come alone, without the rest of the Titans. Without back-up.

So he would, and so be it what the rest of them thought. They couldn't possibly understand what he was going through, the torment of knowing your destination was everything you had ever fought against. This, at least, might prove to be a distraction.

_And who knows?_ He thought grimly, burying his head in his arms and sliding onto the desk. He could feel the sunlight on the back of his neck and he wriggled slightly at how pleasant it was.

_If I get killed tonight_, _I won't ever have to worry about hurting them_…

* * *

Actually, I have a question someone might be able to answer for me. I have read lots and lots of _TT_ fan-fics on here, and I have noticed that in a lot of them Starfire refers to the other Titans by putting "Friend…" in front of their names; e.g. Friend Raven, Friend Beast Boy, etc. _Why_ is this? _Where_ did it come from! In all of the _Teen Titans_ episodes I have seen (and I've seen them _all_, Seasons One through Four, several times each – yes, I am _that_ sad…) Starfire has never _once_ referred to any of the other Titans in this fashion. In _Stranded_, while in a mood with Robin, she refers to him as "Fellow Titan Robin", but she has never, _ever_ called him "_Friend_ Robin". Does _anyone_ know where this "craze" came from!

Oh, and review, if you like…

Next chapter, _Summoning Songbirds_, up soon!


	8. Summoning Songbirds

Ooh, how I love you all, my reviewers… _ahem_ Um, yes, _anyway_… Here starts the _real_ action. Of the… you know, RobinSlade variety. No, not in _that_ sense! Well, maybe later; but for anyone who read my random ten-liner ficlet _Ultimately_… it's _not_ like that! So, to Quinn and His Quill (thanks for the reviews, and in response to your review on _Ultimately_… Robin is _not_ taking drugs!); to AutumnDynasty (thanks for the info, you are very welcome for my shameless plug of _Ko'100, _and_ I'm not marrying you!)_; to YamiTai (_Come on!_ This is _Robin_ we're talking about! He _seeks out_ traps to walk into!); to Narroch06 (I agree with you about the whole Robin-being-a-master-detective-thing – that's why I included it. And, uh… he's a "beast" if you say so…); to Phoenix Skyborne (I'd be interested to know the name of the episode if you can find it, because _I_ have never heard Star say "Friend…" to anyone); to Alexnandru Van Gordon (hah! Busted! And thanks for the words of praise and encouragement! - But moreover… Hah! Busted!) and to Yami no Kaiba (who actually seemed more interested in _Ultimately_… I read your _Not an Apprentice_, actually, to get back at you… I liked it! I left you a review!).

So, yes; love you all! - What would I do without you?...

Enjoy this next part!

Summoning Songbirds

_How I hate this book…_

Robin's attention drifted from the page and he slowly and deliberately closed _The_ _Fall of the House of Usher_, tossing it next to him on the couch. He yawned and ran a hand through his dark hair. So much for trying to keep awake…

He glanced up at the giant digital clock above the dark TV screen. It read 11:25pm. The other Titans had departed for bed an hour ago after watching Beast Boy's favourite movie _Wicked Scary_ again; the shape-shifter was enamoured, but the rest of the Titans had come to the conclusion that the movie wasn't quite so wickedly scary the hundred-and-fifth time you saw it.

He had told them he would follow them up shortly, first wanting to check something in the Evidence Room. Raven, he wasn't surprised to note, wasn't speaking to him but had taken to glaring piercingly at him instead, but Cyborg, Starfire and Beast Boy all seemed to have overlooked the incident that morning and were behaving perfectly normally towards him. He had tried his best to act normal too, and had seemed to pass but they _did_ notice that he refused to make eye contact with them. However, they had all, albeit Raven, bade him goodnight and left him to his own devices, which consisted of sitting in semi-darkness trying to immerse himself in _The Fall of the House of Usher_, which he was steadily hating more and more, in complete silence with the accompaniment of a cup of coffee.

That put him back years, the memory of winter nights in Gotham City, when he and Bruce would get that odd, rare night when the Bat-signal hadn't been lit and would indulge in a night in by a roaring fire, both immersed in literature from the amazing Wayne library wing. Bruce would curl up in his favourite armchair, once his father's, with a _Sherlock Holmes_ or something by Dickens, while Robin himself would stretch out like a contented cat on the fur rug in front of the fireplace with whatever looked the most epic book in the library that night. Alfred would take the liberty of bringing tea up and would perhaps join them for a little well-earned relaxation time. And it would be like some cosy scene from a Christmas movie, where silence was golden and snow fell daintily to the ground outside.

But those days were dead now. He looked at the clock again; 11:29pm. He sighed and got up; the letter had said midnight and he intended to be on time. He knew he had to be quiet, otherwise they'd all be pounding downstairs and asking him where he was going at this time of night. And if he told them, they'd stop him, or insist that they were going with them, and the same would happen if he _didn't _tell them. So the only way out was to ensure that they didn't even know he was gone.

He took off his belt and checked through it; staff, birdarangs, explosive and ice discs, grappling hook… He left those things, but discarded the lock-pick and circuit terminator, knowing he wouldn't need them. Then he took out his communicator and left it on the coffee table next to the other items he didn't need; he didn't want them tracking him if they found out he was gone. Lastly he turned off the built-in tracking device in his belt in case they tried to find him that way. He didn't want to be found; he didn't want their help. Not through pride and arrogance that he thought he could do it himself, as Raven or Cyborg would have chalked it up to, but because he didn't want to be near them until he could fully come to terms with his so-called "destiny". He didn't want to give himself a chance to hurt them.

Despite what he was doing he was extremely calm as he replaced his belt around his waist, picked up his empty coffee cup and headed for the kitchen. He put it in the sink and then picked up a sheet of paper and a pen from the pad on the sideboard. He went back into the front room and in the dim light wrote across the paper two words;

_I'm sorry._

So little could mean so much. He was sorry for going and not telling them about the letter. He was sorry about the dream in which he had brutally murdered them. He was sorry that he was being so dismissive towards them in fear that the dream might become reality. He was sorry for everything he had ever put them through on his behalf.

And he was sorry that, despite everything, he was going to do it again.

He left it underneath his communicator and other unwanted gadgets in case one of them came down in the middle of the night, or in case…

…In case he didn't come back.

And if he did and none of them had come down, he would simply throw it away and pretend it hadn't happened.

He left the front room and made his way down to the garage, flicking on the fluorescent lights overhead. The T-car was sitting still and silent, a tool-kit lying open beside it where Cyborg had been servicing it earlier that day. The T-sub/rocket was underneath the floor, as usual, and his R-cycle…

He came to it and ran his hand over its smooth surface. His helmet was lying next to it and he reached down and picked it up, frowning slightly at it. He wasn't going to bother with it, feeling slightly reckless, but he really wasn't up for another month and a half in hospital drinking milk and being told off by Doctor Grant for trying to jump out of the window. He pulled it on, straddled the bike, put the key into the ignition and started it up, the roar of the engine bringing a smile to his face.

He could only hope that he hadn't woken his friends four floors above as he swerved out of the garage and into the night, Gotham-bound.

Twenty-five minutes later found him skidding to a halt outside the gates of Arkham Asylum. He side-grounded it and turned the engine off, setting the alarm to his belt. He pulled off his helmet and tossed it to one side, sliding off the leather saddle as he did so. He shivered a little even though it was a fairly hot night and looked up at the wrought iron gates and terrifying ornate building beyond them.

_I must be mad for coming here…_

He ran over the factors in his head as he pulled his grappling hook from his belt, swung it over his head and released it, feeling it catch on the gates.

He had come here at the demand of some mystery person pretending to be Batman, he was on his own with no means of communication, he had severed all means of being tracked by his concerned friends, and as highly trained as he was by Gotham's Dark Knight, he was still only 16 and yet to have a growth spurt.

Suddenly this whole escapade was starting to look like a very bad idea…

He got to the top of the gates and paused as he got his footing. He could back out now, go home, act like it had never even crossed his mind and bloody well pull himself together. Or… he could be extremely stupid, go into the asylum and find out what the deal was at the risk of his life.

_Oh well_…

He decided on the latter against his rational thinking and hoisted himself over the gates, untangling his grappling hook and dropping six feet to the concrete path below. He landed expertly and lightly in a catlike crouch and straightened up, putting his grappling hook away. Arkham Asylum loomed forebodingly before him, as though daring him to enter. He didn't want to; more than anything he wanted to flee. There was no other place on Earth he would least liked to have been than here, particularly without Batman at his side. Somehow, the thought that it was empty deterred him even more. If the Titans had been here he would have put on a brave face; with them as back-up he wouldn't have been afraid. But on his own he could freely admit that he was scared, and he knew the difference between bravery and stupidity. This, unfortunately, fell into the latter category.

He took out his staff and shot it out to it's full length, feeling a little comforted by it's hard, cold smoothness in his hand, and, taking a deep breath, started to make his way towards the entrance way of Arkham. He could feel his heart thudding in his ribcage and icy tendrils of fear constricting around his stomach but kept going, his mind almost numb and unthinking. At any rate he would at least find out who his mysterious Batman-impersonator was.

The heavy steel doors were slightly ajar, and stuck to one was a note intended for him. He ripped it off and read it quickly.

_To Robin, _

_Meet me at the south wing recreational hall. Don't be late. _

_From Batman._

It was decorated with another crudely-drawn bat and Robin crumpled it in his hand, scowling. This person was really starting to annoy him with their ridiculous Batman impersonation. Not only was it badly executed, it wasn't fooling him in the slightest.

His fear somewhat tempered, he went into the entrance hall and found another piece of paper on the reception desk. He curiously picked it up and saw it to be a badly-drawn map of the asylum which was nevertheless useful; the south wing recreational hall was circled in red and a route from the entrance hall to his destination was clearly marked.

Another clue that it wasn't Batman he was meeting, he realised as he followed the map's directions through the asylum. Batman would allow him to find his own way to the meeting place, and would wait for him until he turned up; he certainly wouldn't leave him a map.

He came to the recreational hall and frowned, glancing around. He could see very little as it was pitch dark, but as far as he could tell it was deserted. And then it hit him, and he should have realised it before; it wasn't a meeting, but a trap.

And he had walked right into it.

He turned sharply to go back the way he had came, to escape…

A dazzlingly bright light suddenly came on from overhead, almost like a spotlight; after so long in the dark it blinded him and he put an arm over his stinging eyes to shield them. He couldn't see anything at all.

"Ladies and gentlemen, he's not quite Michael Flatly, but we have here with us tonight the one and only Batman's annoying sidekick, _The Boy Wonder_! And he's going to be dancing for us one _hot little number_…"

Robin turned sharply in what he thought was the direction of that all-too-familiar voice and suddenly heard something flying his way. He instinctively stepped backwards but was thrown off his feet as a flare exploded where he had been mere seconds before. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head violently, trying to get used to the bright light. He squinted up and saw a large, dark, bat-like shape land with a _thud_ in front of him.

Batman? No, it couldn't be…

"Ta-daa!" The Joker yelled happily as he triumphantly pulled off his makeshift Batman cape, revealing his trademark purple suit. He threw the cape over Robin's head and swept into a deep, flourishing bow.

"Had you going there, right, Batboy?" He asked as Robin pulled the cape off and threw it to one side. The Boy Wonder still couldn't see too well, but this problem was remedied as the glaring spotlight suddenly went off and was replaced by two much dimmer striplights on the ceiling of the hall that gave just enough light as was practical. He blinked behind his mask several times, trying to cure the bright spots in front of his eyes. It was times like this he cursed himself for inheriting his mother's blue eyes.

"You did this?" Robin asked, frowning. Oh, it seemed logical alright, for the Joker to pretend to be Batman; he would find that funny. But it was still rather low-key for him, to say the least.

"Me and my new best friend," the Joker replied, his permanent grin broadening. Robin raised his eyebrows.

"I'm guessing it's not the Riddler," he drawled. "I bet he's not overly friendly towards you since you tried to kill him again."

The Joker shrugged nonchalantly.

"He was an idiot anyway. Him and Harley prancing over to the good side at the last minute, kissing up to Batman…"

He pretended to vomit and Robin used the distraction to struggle to his feet.

"What do you want?" He asked carefully, already knowing what the answer would be.

"Well, I'd _like_ to kill you," the Joker said wistfully, "but unfortunately I'm in a business deal so I'll just have to settle for beating you half to death while my partner gets all the real fun. Shame, really; we definitely have some unfinished business, wouldn't you agree?"

"Mm." Robin clutched his staff tightly, only one thought going through his head;

_I should have killed him. If only Batman hadn't stopped me… Now he's out and unless I take him down he's going to undoubtedly kill more people_,_ if he doesn't kill me first…_

"Tell Bats thanks, by the way, for sparing my life," the Joker went on mockingly, as though reading his mind. "Dying would have been a real bummer, and especially at _your_ hands…"

He grinned maliciously.

"How's your little girlfriend?" He asked. "You know, the one I shot?"

"She's fine, actually," Robin responded coldly. The Joker whistled sharply.

"I'll say she's _fine_," he agreed, his meaning completely different to Robin's. "Why are all the good ones such a pain in the butt? Harley, Poison Ivy, your little Batgirl…"

"Her name is _Raven_," Robin corrected in disgust. "And how can you talk about Harley like that? You were going to kill her!"

"Yeah, it's really too bad she escaped," the Joker added in mock agreement. Robin was slightly shocked at how disdainfully the Joker spoke of Harley; she loved him.

"Never mind, there'll be other times," he sighed. He briefly turned away from Robin and the Boy Wonder came towards him; when the Joker turned back he was sent reeling by a hard crack to the jaw. He stumbled backwards several paces, clutching at his mouth and shrieking expletives. He took his hands away and revealed a stream of blood gushing from his already-crimson lips. He glared up at Robin lividly.

"You're dead, Bat-brat," he vowed. He straightened up and grinned. "By the way, I think the James Bond look suited you better than that cliché sidekick garb."

He went underneath his purple jacket and pulled three or four horrible-looking silver instruments from his belt.

"Now, Bird-boy, I have a little game we can play," he said, advancing on Robin, who stepped backwards, horrified. "It's called "Torture the whereabouts of Batsy out of his little sidekick". See, I get all these nifty little gadgets and _persuade_ you to tell me where Batman "hangs out". Then I hand you over to my accomplice, who will kill you."

_I knew I shouldn't have come_…

"Now, I don't know whether it would be best to strap you down, or-"

The Joker cut himself off with a yelp as Robin hurled a birdarang with expert aim, knocking a particularly unpleasant-looking weapon out of his grey-gloved hand. Both the birdarang and the torture instrument skidded across the floor and the Joker made the mistake of watching them until they spun to a halt. He turned back just in time to see Robin somersault into the air using his staff as a leverage and arc towards him, colliding with the madman in a painful blow to the chest with his metal-heeled boots. The Joker was knocked heavily onto his back, losing all but one very sharp weapon clutched in his hand grim-death. Robin landed and retracted his staff, putting it away in his belt, and waited for the Joker to get up.

The Joker struggled to his feet and lunged clumsily at Robin in a completely mistimed punch; the Teen Titan caught his arm, overbalanced him and threw him over his shoulder. The Joker lost his last weapon as he landed and reached out for it, but Robin got there first and kicked it out of his reach.

"Sorry to disappoint you, brat," the Joker smiled, "but I have plenty more where that came from…"

Before Robin could react the Joker snatched out and grabbed his ankle, tugging him off-balance. He tumbled and then rolled, but by the time he was upright again the Joker had recovered and without warning slammed into him, knocking him to the floor. The Joker grasped a handful of his dark hair and pulled his head back; Robin felt something cold at his throat and pushed his hands against the Joker's, trying to force the weapon away, but it was difficult as the Joker was a fully-grown man and was considerably stronger.

"Enough."

They both stopped as that cold voice issued it's command and Robin felt his blood turn to ice. He would recognise that voice anywhere…

_Slade_.

"I said that was enough, Joker," Slade said again, coming into the light. The Joker hesitated, then relinquished his grip on the Boy Wonder, who scrabbled away from him.

"You were under strict orders not to kill him," Slade continued icily, approaching them both.

"I wasn't _going_ to kill him," the Joker retorted.

"Both of you, get up."

Slade sounded like a teacher who had just found his two prize pupils scrapping over an IQ test; his single grey eye narrowed as he ran his cold gaze over them both. Robin and the Joker both got to the feet, the Joker not looking quite so cheerful as before.

"I don't like your tone, Sladey," the Joker said warningly.

"I don't like _you_," Slade snapped. "Step away from the boy. I won't be requiring your help any longer."

The Joker looked insulted.

"I thought we had a deal," he reminded the other villain dangerously. "I could torture where Batman was hiding out of him in exchange for the fulfilment of your little "prophecy". Remember?"

"I've changed my mind," Slade answered coldly. "You're not touching him. Now get away from him before I make you."

Robin couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was Slade really… _protecting_ him? No, that couldn't be it. What was that about some prophecy? Something told him he wasn't off the hook that easy…

"You lying scum!" The Joker shrieked, brandishing his torture weapon. "We had a deal!"

"And you trusted me." Slade sounded almost pitiful. "_I _certainly didn't trust _you_. That's why I've been standing here in the shadows watching you, making sure you didn't break the bargain and kill him anyway."

"Yeah? Well…" The Joker suddenly reached and grabbed hold of Robin by the scruff of his neck, pulling him in towards him and replacing the weapon at his throat.

"What if I kill him now?" He sneered. "Then what'll you do, Bigshot? Your little prophecy will be ruined!"

Slade's eye widened slightly, then narrowed again. The Joker was grinning evilly at him, blood still pouring down his chin; it was unfortunate for Batman's nemesis that his attention wasn't instead on his teen captive.

Robin elbowed the Joker in the gut and tossed him over his shoulder once more; the madman landed in a crumpled heap at Slade's feet. Behind his mask it was impossible to read Slade's expression, but as far as Robin could tell he looked sort of impressed.

"Damn you… to hell… Batboy," the Joker spat, struggling to his knees. Robin readied himself for anything the Joker might pull as the villain hauled himself to his feet, but Slade seemed eager to join in too; with a single slicing punch to his already-injured jaw, Slade downed the Joker and knocked him unconscious. He viciously kicked him aside and turned sharply towards Robin.

"Well, Robin, here we are again," he said softly. "In less-than-perfect circumstances."

"_You_ brought me here," Robin spat. "Why? What are you doing in Gotham?"

"Well, I could explain all that to you, I suppose," Slade reasoned, coming closer to him. "But why would I? I brought you here to… to kill you."

Robin clenched his fists.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Slade shrugged his broad shoulders and for the first time Robin noticed how similarly built he was to Batman; strong and powerful, but tall and fairly slim with it.

_Not_ good.

"Surely you know as well as I do that sooner or later it would end this way," Slade answered.

"What? A showdown?"

Slade smirked behind his mask, his solitary grey eye glittering dangerously.

"Dear me, _no_… _Me killing you_, of course…"

* * *

Ooh, ooh, intense part now! Yay! Some typical Slade-kicks-Robin's-ass-real-good action coming up next, as well as… well, _that_ would _spoil_ it, wouldn't it? -

Wanna find out what happens next?

Review like the wind, people! I…

Oh, look, another tumbleweed…

And don't read _Ultimately_.

Really.

And to AutumnDynasty; _I_ _never **said** that he read "The Fall of the House of Usher" all day!_


	9. Behind The Mask

Did anyone see "The Lost Episode" of _Teen Titans_ on a few months back? You know; it was about fifteen minutes long, had another lame British villain (although actually I _like_ Mad Mod -) in it by the name of Punk Rocket, and was basically about the amount of ear wax in Beast Boy's ears. If this seems random, it will now become relevant; I went to see Rooster (British band, if you didn't know) with my friends Carys and Jess the other night. The band was awesome and we had a really great view; we were right at the front, literally about three feet from the stage. _Unfortunately_… we were also _two_ feet from a ten-foot-high speaker. All I can say is "Ow". I now know how the Titans felt against Punk Rocket and his millions of amplifiers…

Anyway, I know I'm probably boring you all, so you don't really have to read this if you don't want to; this is just the routine "Thankyou for reading my pitiful attempt at a _Teen Titans_ fan-fiction and actually liking it (I _hope_)!" to all of my reviewers. And right now I'm about to welcome some new readers/reviewers, as well as welcome back the old hands…

To newbies Sarah Shima, Seductive Angel and Rocky Wolf (I have updated _Small Print_ especially for you! -); I'm really glad you're enjoying it, and I hope to be hearing a lot more from you! And it's nice to hook up with fellow Robin-obsessive people!

To AutumnDynasty (this is the chapter you "like", right? -); to Quinn (you could not _make_ a book out of _Ultimately_; it's only fifteen-odd lines long…); to YamiTai (yeah, things… um, "heat up" now… and as for your _Robin Hood_ analogies?… Weird, but hilarious!); to KamiElf (you're back! Yay! I don't give lessons on Angst writing – _Asylum_ isn't categorized as Angst, actually – but I have written two angsty one-shots: _Who Killed Cock Robin?_ and _Small Print_ (now UPDATED!). I don't know, they might help you, if you want to read them…); to Narroch06 (ok, I understand your terming of "beast" now. And there seems to be a distinct shortage of tumbleweeds around here lately…); and to my #1 reviewer, Yami no Kaiba, who will always painstakingly shoot me down if I get something wrong (thanks for the review on _Small Print_ – now updated; a _whole new_ chapter! More RobinSlade! – and for your comments on Ch. 9, _Summoning Songbirds_. Although… you said Slade going back on his word makes you "squee". Define; is that a good thing or a bad thing?…).

And to Phoenix Skyborne and Alexnandru Van Gordon… Well, I know neither of you reviewed, but you _are_ old hands I guess, and I hope you enjoyed _Summoning Songbirds_ if you _did_ read it (and, incidentally, thankyou v. much to Phoenix Skyborne for your reviews on _Ultimately_ and _Small Print._ I'm reading _Changes: Nine Months More_ at the moment. I'll let you know what I think!).

To DarkMarkLv; are you still there! Argh! Come back!

And to all that read _Small Print_; sorry if this sounds a bit like it. This did actually come first.

Behind the Mask

"_Dear me, no… Me killing you, of course…"_

Slade's words echoed around the recreational hall, seeming to ricochet off the walls like a golf ball.

Robin scowled.

"That's not necessarily how it's-"

"Of course it is, Robin," Slade interrupted calmly, coming right up to him. "And you know it. It was written centuries ago that it would end like this. I offered you the chance to join me and you refused. I forced you to join me and you betrayed me. There is no other way that this can end. You can't beat me, Robin, you're not strong enough. Maybe in a few years that would be different, but now?..." He laughed softly. "You haven't got a hope."

A blow faster than Robin could follow sent him to the ground, where he struggled to get up again.

"I knew you'd come," Slade went on. "I know how your mind works, Robin, because it's so similar to mine. I let the Joker handle the letter, and I don't think he did a very good job of it, but I knew you'd come regardless of whether you thought it was Batman or not. I know how inquisitive you are, and how determined you are."

"You don't know anything about me," Robin snapped. "You don't know who I am, you don't know where I'm from, you don't know what I've been through. You don't know anything! To you I'm just some kid superhero who does nothing but wreck all your plans!"

He got to his feet, grounded himself and threw all of his weight into a punch that should have knocked Slade senseless. But Slade simply caught his wrist and painfully twisted it to the point of breaking.

"Perhaps," Slade agreed, holding Robin's wrist at that painful angle and hearing the Titan grunting and squeaking in agony. He tossed him backwards to the floor again, where the boy landed on his rear and nursed his twisted wrist.

"But it makes no difference," he went on. "The outcome will be the same."

Robin hauled himself to his feet again, trying to ignore the pain of his wrist, and slid into a low battle stance.

Behind his mask, Slade smiled.

"See, this is why I like you…"

Without warning he swung a powerful punch at Robin's face, which the Boy Wonder ducked by a scant half-inch and dived into a roll that set him behind Slade. He swung into a roundhouse kick but Slade caught his ankle and shoved him backwards to the floor. Robin landed flat on his back, bumping his head and knocking his breath from his chest, and opened his eyes to see Slade coming at him again. Desperately he put his hands behind his head and flipped himself into a crouch, catching Slade with his feet as he did so and knocking him backwards. He straightened up as Slade backflipped, not quite as gracefully as Robin himself would have executed, but it was heavier and more deliberate. No sooner was Slade upright than he was launching himself at Robin again, snapping a high, hard kick at his head; Robin dived low, avoiding it, and twisted his body into a swipe that took Slade's legs from under him. He backflipped as Slade fell, landing low, and waited for him to get up again. But Slade wasn't as easily winded as the Joker, Johnny Rancid, or indeed even Poison Ivy had been, and was on his feet again in no time. Robin rose and handsprung towards him, landing lightly and going into a sharp rapid pattern of jabs and punches, as aggressive as the previous night against the dummy. Slade blocked every one, caught hold of his arm and threw him headlong across the room. Robin crashed painfully into what appeared to be a sideboard complete with sinks and slid to the floor, willing himself not to black out. His vision was slightly unclear as he looked up and saw Slade lazily approaching him. He hauled himself to his feet, placed his hands on the sideboard behind him and backflipped onto it with the ease of a gymnast. From up here he had a pretty clear view of the room he and Slade were fighting in. Two very dim striplights that cast barely any light, concrete floor, concrete walls, a few tables and chairs scattered at the far end, and at this end a sideboard with sinks and ovens.

_All the fun of a recreational hall_, he mused, looking back at Slade, who was still leisurely sauntering over. He waited until Slade was as close as possible before leaping from the sideboard and somersaulting through the air over his head. He landed behind him and sent a whip-kick at Slade's back, catching him near the bottom of his spine and sending him to his knees. Slade, however, didn't stay down long.

"You're going to pay for that," he spat, getting to his feet again. He spun into a powerful roundhouse which Robin had to practically bend over backwards to duck, coming into a very rough backflip, but as the Boy Wonder straightened up again Slade snatched out at him and grasped the front of his shirt. He used all of his strength to throw Robin over his head towards the sideboard again, but Robin twisted over at the last minute and landed on his feet, albeit not too gracefully. He straightened up but was sent crunching to his knees as Slade kicked him directly in the belly, thoroughly winding him. He groaned and curled up, able to do little else.

"Told you you'd pay," Slade said softly, crouching down next to him and running a hand over his shoulder blades. At his touch Robin felt a sudden hatred well up inside him and he threw himself at Slade, still winded, and landed on top of him, trying to get at his throat.

"Don't be ridiculous," was all Slade said, before raising his knees and forcefully throwing Robin off him backwards against the sideboard. Robin banged his head again in the same place and slid down to the cold concrete floor in a daze.

Was this truly what he had come all the way to Arkham for? To be killed by his arch-nemesis? To be kicked around without any back-up? To face the final showdown?...

Yes, it was. He knew it was. Slade was right, this was the only way it could be. If Robin truly feared that he was becoming Slade, then the only way to solve it was to let a final battle like this decide the verdict.

_Do or die_.

So he got up again; he _forced_ himself to get up again. And was sent back to the floor again by another blow to the stomach. Slade was killing him.

"You disappoint me, Robin," Slade said quietly. "The last time we fought you were better than this. Faster. Stronger. Because your little friends were in peril, hmm? I really don't think you care if I kill you."

"Maybe… I don't," Robin answered breathlessly. Slade snorted.

"And here I thought the witch girl was the depressed suicidal one," he said mockingly.

"Don't drag… them into… this," Robin said, still breathless. "This is… our fight."

Slade chuckled softly.

"Don't I know it."

He walked away from Robin, glancing about as though a would-be buyer looking around a suburban house. Robin watched him, rubbing hard at his mid-section to try and ease the pain, and noticed that Slade seemed to be losing interest in killing him very rapidly.

_Jeez, am I boring him that badly?..._

Using the sideboard for support he struggled to his feet again, his breathing heavy, and glared balefully at Slade, who seemed to be ignoring him. Fine, he could use that to his advantage. He pulled a birdarang from his belt, aimed it carefully and threw it with all his strength. It arced through the air, picking up speed as it went, directly at Slade's left shoulder. There was no way it could miss…

At the very last second Slade whipped around and parried the birdarang off, deflecting it with one of the metal arm-guards on his costume. It sailed in the opposite direction and hit one of the two striplights, shattering it and causing it to go out. At once the room darkened again, the only light issuing from that one remaining strip.

Robin blinked up at the broken light, realising that he _hadn't_ done himself a favour. If Slade was anything like Batman, less light was more, and on top of that he'd now lost two birdarangs. He looked back at Slade and cursed himself when he saw he was gone. He turned to face the sideboard, in case Slade was on top of it waiting to attack him, but found nothing. Confused, he warily stepped backwards, and wasn't in the least bit surprised when he bumped into something. Before he could turn around he felt Slade's hands enclose around his shoulders and he froze.

_The dream_, _that damn dream…_

"Attacking when your opponent's back is turned," Slade said softly. "Not very sporting…"

"You'd know," Robin spat. He tensed as he felt Slade's grip on his shoulders tighten slightly.

"Yes, I would. That's why we're so alike."

"We've had this conversation before," Robin reminded him icily.

"Hmm. Didn't it ever cross your mind _why?_"

Robin opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out.

"Because no matter how much you deny it, you can't change the way you are. You can't change the fact that we are similar. You can't change the fact that you are being a fool by not joining me."

"I would _never_ join you."

Slade laughed softly.

"Well, I know that. More's the pity."

He touched Robin's hair ever so gently, just enough that he would feel it.

_Just like in the dream_…

"Stop it!" Robin snapped, wrenching himself away from Slade and turning to face him. He was furious, but also… confused, if that was how to describe it. Like if Slade touched him again he wouldn't mind so much.

Slade seemed almost amused.

"Stop what?"

"Just… everything!" Robin said sharply, backing up against the sideboard. "You… you're just confusing me, I don't know… I can't think straight! Whatever you're doing, stop!"

Slade appeared confused now too.

"I'm not doing anything."

He came closer to Robin, but almost unwillingly.

"Get away from me," Robin warned. It was so dark; he could barely see Slade at all even though he was less than two feet in front of him.

Slade didn't answer him, but seconds later Robin felt his hand on his waist.

"What the hell are you doing!" He shrieked. Slade removed his hand.

"I don't know. I suppose I should… punch you, or something…"

It almost sounded like a question, as though Slade was asking him what to do next.

Whatever, he really, _really _didn't like this. Slade had just touched him in the non-hurty way, which was considerably worse. He seemed… suddenly not Slade-like at all. His confident, almost-arrogant way of speaking had faltered; he was like an actor who hadn't learned his lines.

And Robin didn't intend to be a part of this production any longer. He swung his fist back, throwing all of his weight into the blow, but even in the dark Slade easily dodged it. His personality might have lobotomised; shame the same couldn't be said for his fighting technique. Slade caught his wrist again and shoved him painfully backwards against the sideboard. Relieved, Robin caught himself thinking that everything had gone back to normal.

This assumption was remedied as Slade suddenly forced his hand over Robin's masked eyes and the Titan heard distinctly that Slade was pulling off his own mask. Not that it made much difference; it was too dark too see anyway, but Robin struggled, trying to pull Slade's hand away from his eyes so that he could see. He had been waiting for this for what seemed like forever, the chance to unmask his arch-nemesis.

"What… are you-"

His words were killed as he felt something warm and wet touch his mouth, Slade's firm lips against his own mid-speech. Slade's hand was still over his eyes, blinding him, but he knew what was happening.

_Slade was kissing him_.

Alarm bells went off in his head as he realised it and he freaked, desperately trying to shove Slade off him. He didn't understand why this was happening. Slade _hated _him, and vice versa. He would rather Slade kicked him around than this.

And yet… even now, there was some little voice in his head telling him not to resist, even though he desperately wanted to. For some reason the feeling of horror was starting to… fade, and he didn't know why. His retaliation was unwillingly becoming less so, as though something was taking over his mind and forcing him to withstand it.

Yes, he could feel it now. He felt almost unreal, as though a part of another dream, a horribly sick obscure one, and yet he didn't want to wake up. His sanity had completely abandoned him, as had his rationality, and it seemed that Slade was being intoxicated by a similar feeling. It was sexual and terrible and yet, somehow, it felt… right.

So he let Slade kiss him. And he kissed him back. He couldn't help it. He wanted to kiss his enemy, but he had a feeling that even if he didn't want to, he wouldn't have been able to stop. He was no longer in control, and he didn't know why he accepted it so calmly, but he did. He was no longer in the real world.

His eyes were closed now, and he felt Slade slowly remove his hand from his eyes, but he didn't care about what was behind the mask anymore. His eyes didn't open, even when Slade's large hands came into contact with Robin's own quivering body, touching him, casting him further into that terrible spell that had a hold over them both. He could feel one of Slade's hands at the back of his head, caressing his hair, touching the tender bump where he had hit his head twice. The kiss broke off for a second or two, then restarted deeper and more passionately as Slade put his other hand under Robin's thighs and hoisted him up to sit on the sideboard where they resided at the same height. Robin's own hands, as though of their own will, were now in Slade's hair. He couldn't see, he didn't know what Slade looked like, but his fingers still ran through what he assumed were short, untidy locks. He could feel Slade's hands at his waist, unclasping his belt, and couldn't comprehend why he didn't care; he heard a scraping _thud_ as Slade tossed his belt aside and he realised that he was now weaponless but he still didn't care. For some reason he seemed to have forgotten how to care about anything. He could feel Slade's cold gloved hand sliding up his shirt, running over his bare skin, and strangely enjoyed it. The fact that he and Slade were mortal enemies seemed to make the contact more pleasurable, more satisfying. He slid along the sideboard a bit and accidentally fell into one of the sinks, exposing more of his thighs which Slade was only too obliged to run his hands along. With the boy stuck like that Slade pushed his green spandex-clad legs further apart, his hand sliding lower, out from beneath Robin's shirt…

Down to deeper, more secret places.

Robin tried to hoist himself out of the sink but Slade wouldn't let him. His hand brushed briefly between Robin's thighs, sending a shiver down the teenaged boy's spine. Robin barely realised how wrong it was anymore; it suddenly seemed so _natural_… He and Slade were _so alike_ – why should they _not_ be attracted to each other in this terrible way? All of those beatings, all of the cruel games… Everything suddenly seemed to make sense, as though poison was taking hold of his mind.

Forcing him to believe what they were doing was _right_. Allowing him to justify what he knew, deep down, was _wrong_.

They had not come up for air at all but Robin felt that suddenly he didn't need to breathe. But then they broke and Robin gasped with it, the air suddenly tasting bitter. He sought Slade again, near whining with his desperation, his eyes still closed, but Slade ignored his non-lingual protests, pressing his mouth to the boy's throat. Robin gasped again, tipping his head back as he felt Slade bite into him, as though his skin was that of an apple. It hurt but he liked it; right on his jugular, above the high, tight black neck of his cape.

A mark of minute-long passion.

Slade's hands slid up over Robin's slight, quivering form to the neckline of his cape, as though debating whether or not to pull it off, and Robin wanted him to. His mouth lifted from Robin's thin neck, leaving an imprint of his contact; and their lips met again and it didn't feel wrong. As though he had walked out of the real world, out of a place that restrained him by forcing him to be…

…Something that he _wasn't_. And all of the worry of that came with what he _was_ – Robin, leader of the Teen Titans, ex-sidekick of the Batman – had suddenly melted away. What did he care if he killed his friends? If his hands became permanently stained with their blood?

Why did anything _matter?_

Why should he _care_ about anything when he could be here? Locked in some secret world he had never known existed; some world that he had suddenly found a doorway to.

Some world that he didn't ever want to leave.

And then he was thrown out of that world headlong back into the real dimension, and for a second felt as though he was waking up from a dream.

The same couldn't be said for Slade, however, who was still groping and kissing him.

Robin was unsure how it had got to this, or why he had let it happen. But suddenly a torrent of hatred and anger and humiliation welled up inside him and he swung his feet up and cracked Slade in the chest, throwing the villain off him to the floor. Slade landed with a heavy crunch and lay there for a few seconds and it seemed that he was also re-entering the real world.

Whatever had taken over them both, it was gone, and if anything their hatred for each other had swelled beyond proportion. Robin heard Slade mutter something and put his mask back on, maybe to hide from the reality of what had just happened. Robin gathered all of his strength and heaved himself out of the sink, then turned his back on Slade and leaned over the sideboard. He rocked dangerously over the sink, his eyes closed, waiting for the heaving of his stomach to force what little he had eaten that day back out of him. It didn't come and he roughly shoved his fingers down his throat, all to get rid of the feeling. He felt far better for it, as he had last night, but he shook again now as he washed himself off.

This was worse than last night.

This was _real_.

He would never in his right mind have let something like that happen, which only proved one thing; he, albeit briefly, _hadn't _been in his right mind. He had been in a completely wrong one. The revelation frightened him perhaps more than anything else.

That something had been controlling him.

He pushed his sweaty fringe from his eyes and wet his face with water from the tap. The taste in his mouth was sour, and not just from throwing up. His pale face suddenly burning, he remembered where Slade had touched him; grateful, if nothing else, that he had not become hard by it.

He didn't think he could live with himself if he _had_. He touched his throat where Slade had bitten him; it still hurt.

"What did you think you were doing?" He asked softly as he heard Slade get to his feet.

Slade didn't answer him. What answer was there to give? If Slade had felt as _he_ had, then he hadn't _thought_ about anything. It had just… happened.

And what about himself? He hadn't resisted. He had started to, but it had just faded into some sick desire. Did he truly believe that his mind had been possessed by something? Or had the desire been real, and he didn't want to believe in the possibility that he might be…

But the desire was dead now. He had never felt it before, and now it made him feel sick to the point of fainting. He _couldn't_ be… and somehow he doubted that _Slade_ was either.

He heard Slade approaching him and whipped around angrily.

"Don't you _dare_ come near me!" He spat, his voice full of hatred. Slade stopped.

"I have no desire to touch you, Robin," he said eventually. Robin glared furiously at him for a second or two, then abruptly turned on his heel and walked away, making off in the direction of his discarded belt.

"I'm leaving," he informed Slade icily. "I'll see you in Jump, when you have some scheme that needs foiling."

He snatched up his belt from the floor, slung it over his shoulder and started to leave.

"You're not going anywhere!" Slade said sharply. Robin didn't even look at him.

"Watch me," he replied coldly.

Slade snapped his fingers and a sudden mechanical grinding from the shadows told Robin that he and Slade weren't alone. He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart pounding and his fists clenched; his belt still dangled from his left hand.

"Get him," Slade ordered quietly.

From the shadows burst a round dozen of Slade's mercenaries, his familiar black-and-amber robot commandos. In an instant Robin's belt was back around his waist and he was pulling his staff from it. The first of the robots reached him and he parried its blows with his staff, sending a whip-kick in its direction as it momentarily paused and knocking it away from him. Another was upon him as he drew his breath and he spun into a powerful roundhouse, sending it flying in the same fashion as the first, then took out a third with a high dragonfly kick to its head. But as he landed he felt a cracking pain in his hand as a fourth robot kicked his staff out of his possession. He spun into a low sweep, knocking it to the floor, then uppercut a fifth as he straightened up. But by this point the first three were back up, and the other seven had also reached him and he couldn't fight them all off. He was thrown to the hard floor by one, then kicked back by another as he tried to get up. He tried to struggle to his feet again and they all dived on him as though they were playing a game of American football and he was the unfortunate quarterback in possession of the ball.

"Enough."

Slade's voice was crisp and demanding. The robots all stopped moving but Robin continued to struggle in their grip, not getting very far at all.

"What are you _doing!_" Robin demanded, still trying to free himself from his makeshift prison of robot commandos. "Let me go!"

Slade didn't answer him, but instead spoke to his mercenaries;

"Strip him and hold him down."

Robin's breath caught in his throat and his masked eyes widened in horror and disbelief.

"Wh… what? Strip me and… wait… wait a second…"

It was in that instant that he realised what Slade was going to do to him. And unlike the kissing and everything else that had gone with it, he didn't intend to let it happen.

He started to fight even more desperately against Slade's minions but he was no match for all twelve of them. He could feel them all grabbing hold of his arms and legs, stopping him from retaliating. They were robots, they were strong, and eight of them held him still while the other four worked on Slade's first command. They weren't undressing him; they were literally ripping his clothes from his body, tearing them beyond repair and throwing them aside as ragged scraps of bright material. His cape went first, followed by his shirt and gloves and belt, and then they slammed him to the floor on his back where he banged his head a third time in the same place. Pain and blackness echoed through his skull and he found himself wishing that he would pass out. But he didn't. His vision came into focus again and his senses became aware enough for him to realise that he was in really serious trouble. He had two of them on each side pinning each of his arms to the cold floor while the other eight were clustered around his lower half relieving him of his boots, followed by his skin-tight green pants and lastly his boxers. They pinned his bare legs down too so that he had no hope of struggling free, even though he tried with all of his strength, all the while cursing himself for coming here, and for not bringing the Titans. For cutting off all means of communication, all means of being found. For everything. This was his own fault but the knowledge of it didn't help his situation in the slightest; he was still naked and defenceless in the middle of a dark abandoned asylum at midnight, possibly the worst scenario he had ever found himself in.

He could hear Slade approaching and felt one of the robots reach up to his eyes to remove his mask.

"No," Slade said quietly. "Leave him his identity."

The commando left off and moved away. Robin tried to sit up but couldn't even get his shoulders off the floor, so strongly were Slade's minions holding him down.

"You can't do this," he said desperately. "Slade, you can't…"

"Be quiet," Slade ordered coldly. He too was naked apart from his mask, which he seemed to be hiding behind.

"You said you had no desire to touch me!" Robin pressed desperately. In the dark it made little difference but he hated Slade seeing him so vulnerable.

"I haven't," Slade answered.

Robin blinked.

"Then why-"

"I don't want to do this," Slade told him, and he really did sound as though he hated the idea of it. "But I have to. You don't understand, Robin, and you won't have to. You're going to die."

"What are you talking about!" Robin asked, desperation and anger and fear and hatred all evident in his voice. "You don't have to do this. You can't-"

"I told you to be quiet." Slade sounded furious, with both Robin and himself. Then he seemed to relent a little as he knelt down next to the restricted Teen Titan.

"I'll… try not to hurt you too much," he said, as though his offer would make it all better. Robin struggled harder against the commandos holding him down, the dark making the situation seem worse and more frightening as he felt Slade coming closer and closer to him.

The robots suddenly seemed to release him, and he shot up to his knees, ready to bolt. Instead they grabbed his arms cruelly, held him there as he struggled against them. They were locked across his shoulders, too heavy to push off, far too strong to break from. One grasped his hair and forced his head up.

Making him look directly at Slade.

"_Please, Slade_…" Robin whispered pleadingly. "_Please_… _Don't do this, please_…"

Slade leaned into him, receiving a stifled, terrified squeak in response from the boy.

"I have to," he replied coldly. "I can't expect you to understand…"

He prised the commando's hand from Robin's hair and the boy hung his head, shaking with fright. Putting one finger under his chin, Slade tipped Robin's head back up again.

"And Robin, I know this means nothing," Slade whispered, his masked face only centimetres from the Boy Wonder's, "-but… I'm sorry."

And with those final words he destroyed everything, tore from the boy held beneath him every last scrap of purity and dignity and cast them into some flaming hell born of sexual sin.

Killed his soul and his mind and devastated his world.

Revealed the terrible truth of what lay behind the mask.

Wrought unholy defilation upon Batman's child.

And behind his own mask, Batman's child cried out.

* * *

Haha! Action, suspense, angst… um, _horror_, possibly, at least from Wonder Boy's point of view. And some RobinSlade slash! (Which is, I'm afraid, the _only_ RobinSlade slash involved within my entire trilogy). And _why_ did it happen, I hear you ask? Well, ok, maybe you _aren't_ asking. Maybe right now you are phoning for the men in white coats. Either way, all shall be explained. Not in the next chapter; not even in the first part of my trilogy. But it _will_ be explained. If you can hang on that long, that is…

So… Like? Didn't like? Tell me what you think. I am especially interested to know what you all thought of this chapter (although Yami no Kaiba bizarrely liked _Ultimately_…).

Some Teen-y Titan-y action coming up next (the _second_ time they have been in it at all; yay!), but I might put up two chapters, the second of which will take us back to Robin and Slade's… oh, how _wrong_ it would be of me to say "love-nest"…

Catch you on the flip-side, dudemeisters!

(_The Simpsons_ – couldn't resist… -)

AND I HAVE ADDED ANOTHER CHAPTER TO _SMALL PRINT!_ (Just in case you didn't know…)


	10. A Net of His Own Making

Ok… You all seem to be up in arms about the last chapter. No, not about the content; about the _lack of_ content!

Gosh… oO

That just… I don't know, I'm just surprised. I mean, I guess you're _right_, because the fight scene and the RobinSlade make-out slashy bit was all really detailed and all, but I honestly didn't think you'd all condemn me because I didn't do any detail to the actual rape; instead ending it… um, _poetically_…

But I can tell you the reason (and it is a lame excuse, really…); in truth, _Asylum_ is already written. So is Part 2, _Black Magic_. I am currently working on Part 3 of this trilogy, _Remember the Titans_. I was writing _Asylum_ this time _last_ year; I was fifteen at the time, and not very well versed in writing slash/lemons, etc. Actually, the slash bit is updated – that used to have practically no detail at all either – because I added stuff before I posted it to make it more "interesting". However… if there's one thing I'm paranoid about, it's getting banned. So I didn't add anything to the rape bit, because I know is kinda strict about that sort of stuff; I thought it was much safer to just leave it the way it was.

I know it's a lame excuse. But… for any of you reading _Small Print_ (which I _am_ actually writing _currently_), I have very generously been given some plot bunnies by Narroch06 and Rocky Wolf and I am going to try my hand at some more detailed RobinSlade action… - I feel confident enough to be able to attempt it now, so be on the lookout for an update on that…

Anyway… onto my ritual throwing-myself-at-your-feet-in-gratitude-for-reviewing… So, to Rocky Wolf (my new returning reader/reviewer! Yay! I love you! And glad you're enjoying _Small Print_ – it's especially for you – even if the "swallowing thing" didn't exactly do much for you…); and to YamiTai (weirdness is a virtue, is it not? And I attempted to read your _Digimon_ fic; alas, I cannot understand _one_ word of German! _Argh!_); to Quinn (I keep telling you _not_ to read _Small Print_, witch-hunter! (He thinks I'm a witch, everyone! How wrong he is!) And _no_, no-one told the Titans they _weren't_ involved, because they _are!_ They're the freakin' _mortal gods!_); to Yami no Kaiba (my answer to you is actually that whole lot above; and about Slade translating the prophecy by another means?… Well, there _is_ a bit coming up about that, but it _is_ a complicated factor, isn't it?…); to Alexnandru Van Gordon (thanks for the wonderful standing ovation! And don't worry; there's no more RobinSlade slash stuff in this trilogy, although there will of course be references to what just happened. With such a coincidental name, I guess I can understand your worry…) and to Narroch06 (always you amuse me with your title for things; Robin "Beast"; Slade "Dark horny monster"… Tee hee, how easily amused I am… And thankyou, _thankyou_, THANKYOU for your plot idea for _Small Print!_ Gonna get writing it ASAP! And everyone read _Abyss!_ It's great!) and to Phoenix Skyborne (yay! You're back! I can't _believe_ you took _algebra_… Still, it looks as though you don't "waste" your lessons… Still reading _Changes: Nine Months More_ but I'm _almost_ _there!_ Oh, and lame excuse for lack of detail in last chapter is above for you, too…).

Haultan… you are _so_ busted…

Teen Titans now! Yes, _really_, Quinn!

A Net of His Own Making

Starfire made her way quietly downstair_s, _one hand trailing along the banister and the other raised in front of her face, a green orb of energy issuing from her palm to light her way with a dull, eerie green glow. She was, for some reason, uneasy in her sleep, finding it difficult to get comfortable in the accumulating sticky heat. She had often heard Cyborg and Beast Boy speak of "midnight snacks", and thought that maybe she would try it to discover what the thrill was.

She slid back the double panels to the front room and entered, taking to the air and floating across the room towards the kitchen. Her natural night-light still lit her way and the green glinted across something, catching her eye. She landed softly next to it, finding herself next to the coffee table. She expanded her starbolt slightly, giving herself more light, and cast the luminous glow across the coffee table and semi-circular couch. She blinked as she saw the glinting object to be a round, familiar sight; a Titan communicator. Puzzled, she picked it up with her free hand, feeling its cold dead weight in her palm. Strange; she didn't remember any of her friends leaving their communicator down here. Robin had been the last to retire to bed, but…

She blinked again as her green light fell on something else shiny. She lowered her hand a little and saw another two small objects lying on the table. She put the pager down and picked up her new finds, examining them but not for the life of her acknowledging what they were. One was a silver, oddly-shaped piece of metal, the other two spikes of metal set into a black plastic square, a single button adoring the case. She was about to touch the button when her eyes fell on a third object. Her heart skipped a beat as she discarded the unidentified objects and picked up the single sheet of paper. On it was simply written "I'm sorry" and she recognised Robin's neat printing. She gasped.

"Robin…"

She looked back at the communicator. Obviously Robin's. The other objects were obviously from his belt. It could only mean one thing.

The piece of paper fluttered from her hand as she rose into the air and soared out of the front room, back up the staircase and right up to the top floor as fast as she could. She landed heavily outside Robin's bedroom door and pounded on the metal panel.

"Robin!" She cried desperately. "Robin! If you are in there, please wake up!"

She waited, hoping against hope that the panel would slide back and he would be standing there, his hair messy and his demeanour irritated from being woken up at this time, but standing there all the same. But she didn't receive any answer and her stomach clenched. She pressed the button outside the door and the metal panel slid back with a click, allowing her access into the dark room beyond. She entered nervously, still hoping that he would be curled up under the covers and hadn't heard her.

But she knew. She knew without even looking that she wouldn't find him. He was a light sleeper, he would have heard her. And as much as she loved him and overlooked the bad in him, she knew, deep down, that this was just like him.

Her starbolt was on a vast circumference now as she moved into Robin's bedroom. She very scarcely came in here, having little reason to. The last two times, though… she smiled a little despite her worry. She had been rewarded well for chasing after him when he wasn't in the best of moods. He had only kissed her once the first time, but the last time… well, they had ended up asleep together on top of his covers, still fully-clothed. But there were bad memories, too. She had discovered that he was Red X after coming in here and finding the evidence on his desk. Looking around now it depressed her; the walls were plastered with newspaper cuttings, but underneath they were bare grey. His desk and the surrounding floor were a mess, but otherwise the floor too was plain grey. Robin was actually the most colourful thing in his room.

Or rather, he _would_ have been if he was actually_ in_ it.

Starfire cast the light further along the room, illuminating it with that creepy, hollow glow, and saw Robin's bed was made, the covers immaculate. She sighed; she had known he wouldn't be in it, but…

She was starting to panic now. He was gone; that much was obvious. But _where_ had he gone? She rose into the air a little, both hands now glowing to give herself more light. The entire Tower was silent, as though it knew where he was but was keeping it a secret.

Damn Robin and his secrets. It was times like this when she could think of some pretty fitting Tamaranean words and insults for him.

It was possible he was somewhere else in the Tower. She hadn't exactly looked for him before jumping to conclusions. But, somehow, she already knew that he was gone.

But it might be worth checking, before she woke the others up. She turned to leave and something else caught her eye, lying discarded on the floor. She floated down next to it and picked it up. It was a crumpled up piece of paper and it was lying two feet away from Robin's wastepaper basket.

That immediately struck her as odd. She wasn't much of a detective, unlike Robin, but she figured that he had obviously thrown this at the bin, meaning to get it in, but had missed. But that was the thing; Robin _didn't_ miss. He had an excellent sense of aim hammered into him by Batman. He could hit a bulls-eye with a birdarang from over 100ft; he could get a piece of trash into the bin from right across the kitchen with little to no effort at all. She had seen him do it time and time again, and he never missed. But here he _had_ missed, which to her only meant one thing; he had been distracted by something. Something, maybe frustration or irritation, had screwed with his aim and had made him miss a mere 5ft gap from his desk to his bin.

Frowning, she uncrumpled the sheet of paper and smoothed it out. She always found it harder to read Earth-language than to understand it vocally, but she could decipher most of it and her green eyes widened in horror at what she could understand. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary note from Batman to Robin, telling him to come to Arkham Asylum at midnight.

But across it, in tainted red ink, Robin had written; _I don't know who you are, but you're not Batman._

And then, piecing together the evidence, he had angrily crumpled it up and thrown it at the bin, but had missed in his irritated state.

She looked back at Robin's desk. Amid the mess there was a polished wooden picture frame, about A5 size, giving pride of place to a newspaper cut-out. She had seen it before; Robin had shown it to her the day after she had returned home from hospital, and she had been able to tell he was pleased that Bruce had gone to the trouble of giving it to him. It was of Bruce, with his arms around a much younger Robin, who was recognisable even without his mask, and who looked truly happy and completely care-free. She and the other Titans had never seen Robin like that. But that aside, it was something else that stuck out most prominently about the picture at that particular moment in time. Bruce had signed it, and in his neat blocky writing across the bottom of the picture read; _Love you always._ Starfire for one loved little sentimental things like that, but now she concentrated on the actual writing rather than the heart-felt message. Even she could see, compared with the note she held in her hand, that the scribes were completely different. Robin was indeed right; Batman _hadn't_ written this letter.

But if he hadn't, then who _had?_

Worry and panic invaded her, overrode her senses. Robin had gone to Gotham in the middle of the night at the demand of someone pretending to be Batman, an obvious ploy to gain his trust. She doubted very much that this Batman-wannabe wanted Robin to be his new best friend.

Which meant that this mysterious perpetrator was going to do something terrible to him.

She could feel fear gripping her chest like a vice. She had often stated that one day Robin would be killed for the simple reason that he wouldn't let his friends help him. What if… what if _today_ was that day? What if he was being beaten up right this second, forced at the mercy of whoever had lured him to Arkham Asylum? What if… she could hardly bear to think it… what if he was already dead?...

She shot over to the window and tried to force it open, the only thought going through her head a desperate urge to just fly off to Arkham Asylum as fast as she could, to find him and help him…

But the window was jammed shut, locked by Cyborg's electronic system. She could shoot a starbolt through it, but…

No.

She whipped back around and soared out of Robin's open bedroom door. She had to be sensible, wake up the others and tell them, and they could all go together, as a _team_…

Raven's bedroom was next in line, next to the bathroom, and the frightened Tamaranean hammered on it for all she was worth, shrieking her telekinetic friend's name.

"Raven! Raven, please wake up! Raven, RAVEN!"

By the time Raven slid back her panel there were tears streaming down Starfire's face, an advertisement of her worked-up state. Raven blinked and pulled down her hood, taking in her friend as she stood in her matching purple tank top and shorts pyjamas, decorated with silver stars, tears in her large green eyes and a piece of crumpled paper clutched grim-death in her hand.

"Starfire, are you alright?" Raven asked, knowing perfectly well that the alien girl was far from alright just by looking at her. Starfire erupted into a stream of fluent, panicky Tamaranean, and the only words Raven could understand were "Robin", "Batman" and "Arkham Asylum".

"Starfire, calm down," Raven commanded, taking Starfire by the shoulders and shaking her slightly. "You're not speaking English."

Starfire stopped and took several deep, gasping breaths.

"Try again," Raven prompted. Starfire nodded weakly and thrust the piece of paper into Raven's hand.

"I went downstairs to get a drink of water," Starfire started to explain as Raven read down the piece of paper, "and there were all these things on the coffee table and there was a note from Robin saying he was sorry and his pager was there too so I went upstairs into his room and he was not there and then I found this beside his bin because he had missed and I picked it up and read it and it said it was from Batman but Robin knew it was not and there is also a picture on Robin's desk of Bruce and Robin and it is signed and the writing is not the same and now Robin has gone to Gotham City in the middle of the night at the demand of someone pretending to be Batman but who is not really and I am worried about him because he did not tell any of us and he could be hurt and in need of our help and he is _gone!_"

Starfire caught her breath after this incredibly long sentence, then burst into tears. Raven looked at her hopelessly, but decided against trying to console her; there was nothing to say. This was very serious. Starfire was right; Robin could be hurt, or worse. All her anger at him melted away and was replaced by fear. She couldn't help but be a little ticked at him, though; how damn _typical_ of him to run off by himself and worry them all half to death. He was so selfish it was unbelievable.

At that moment both Cyborg and Beast Boy's panels slid back and the two boys charged out of their rooms, Beast Boy dressed in blue boxer shorts and an over-sized white T-shirt once Cyborg's – pre-Cyborg – with _Harlem Globetrotters USA Tour_ inscribed on it, Cyborg still with a charger plugged into his circuit-box.

"Jeez, Raven, what did you do to her?" Beast Boy inquired incredulously, scratching his sleep-tousled green hair and stifling a yawn.

"Read this," Raven said simply, ignoring Beast Boy and forcing the letter into Cyborg's large metal hand. Cyborg quickly scanned down it as Beast Boy wriggled under his arm to read it too.

Cyborg looked up.

"He didn't… he didn't actually _go_, did he?"

Raven looked at him sceptically as she reached up and put her arms around Starfire in an attempt to soothe her.

"Dumb question, Cy," Beast Boy answered for her as he finished reading the note. "This is _Robin_ we're talking about. Scarlet Pimpernel, eat your heart out."

Cyborg sighed. As second-in-command, it was up to him to stand in for Robin whenever the Boy Wonder decided to pull one of his frequent disappearing acts. At this rate he was going to end up as full-time leader.

"Guess we better get our act together, Titans," he said, taking charge in Robin's subsequent absence. He nodded at each of them, all being in their pyjamas, and thumbed at the charger at his back.

"You lot get dressed and be in the garage in five minutes," he ordered. "I'll get this thing out of my system and start the car. _Five minutes_, y'hear? We haven't got time to waste."

He frowned at Starfire, who was still sobbing uncontrollably. He reached out and put his large metal hand on her shoulder.

"Chin up, Star," he tried to comfort her. "It'll be ok, we promise."

Starfire sniffled and smiled weakly, her tears subsiding.

"You ok?" Raven asked softly as Beast Boy and Cyborg went back to their rooms to get ready. Her pale hands were on Starfire's shoulders, the shades of flesh contrasting; Starfire's deep, gold Tamaranean tan against Raven's near-grey skin.

Starfire sniffed and wiped her emerald eyes.

"Yes, thankyou, Raven," she answered. "I just hope that he is alright."

Raven squeezed the alien girl's shoulders slightly in assurance, then released her.

"So do I."

Starfire smiled and went off down the corridor back to her room to get changed and Raven gazed after her, leaning against her doorframe. Not even a month ago she had hated Starfire's guts because Robin had kissed her. Well, _more_ than kissed her; from what she had seen they had been doing a bit more than simply kissing. But still, now watching the alien girl, seeing how upset and worried she was, she couldn't see why she could possibly have hated someone so nice.

_Because maybe she is capable of giving more love than me…_

But _she_ was worried about him too, so much that she almost felt sick. And even now in her head she could hear herself repeating her statement to her alien friend.

_So do I…_

* * *

Only a little chapter there. Never mind, I've put up the next one too… 

And Yami no Kaiba; your thing about "if he leaves the note out the others will find it"… you were right!

_Tally ho_ on to the next chapter and all…


	11. Two of a Kind

Totally long chapter here; sorry! Please bear with me. It's full of action and such-like, though, so hopefully you shouldn't get too bored…

And Robin finally finds out his part in the prophecy (well, sort of…)!

Two of a Kind

The pain finally died but he still didn't dare to open his eyes, as though he thought one less sense would block out what was happening to him, what he couldn't bring himself to comprehend.

But he knew. There was no way he could shut it out, being cruelly – rigidly – held as he was. Even squeezing his eyes shut, holding his breath, trying to think of something, _anything_ else, retaliating for all he was worth…

It couldn't shut out the pain.

The horror. The fear. The humiliation. The anger…

Because as much as he wanted to pretend that it wasn't happening, pretending only went so far.

And it was reaching its limit.

He was being raped.

Or maybe, make that past tense.

The fact that it was over didn't change anything, of course. _But it was over…_

And there had been no intoxicating homosexual desire there. Nothing except pure hatred, and this strong belief Slade wielded that he _had_ to do it. For what, Robin didn't know. But he cared why Slade had done it.

Hell, he cared.

His vocabulary wasn't broad enough to fully express how much it had hurt; his only consolation was that it had seemingly hurt Slade just as much. He was clueless; Robin guessed that Slade had no idea how actual homosexual lovers went about it, not that he had any idea either. He didn't even want to think about it, and yet… it only validated his theory that Slade really, _really_ hadn't wanted to do it.

So there had been some kind of motive behind it.

He moaned a little in pain as he felt Slade shift off him entirely, but the masked villain made no attempt to even utter a sound as he backed into the shadows. Robin was thrown back to the hard, cold floor onto his back and pinned there once again; his breath tore from his lungs in little gasps. Fright, maybe. Pain.

He finally dared to open his eyes; there was little difference, just miniscule shafts of light from the single strip-light. Already the coldness of the floor was sinking into his bare back, making him shiver a little, and it was uncomfortably hard, hurting his shoulder blades and his spine, not to mention the bump at the back of his skull. He tried to sit up but he was still being held down.

He understood why they were robots. Surely no human being would have held him, a 16 year old, little more than a child, and kept him still while he was violated so. Surely no person could be so sick as to assist homosexual rape on someone so young.

_On second thought…_

Well, ok, he was kidding himself here. But still, somehow… he got the feeling Slade hadn't wanted any human assistance because he didn't want anyone to know, didn't want anyone to find out. Maybe he thought if he had no witnesses then he could fool himself he hadn't really done it. He _had_ knocked the Joker unconscious, hadn't he?...

Because Robin knew, maybe better than anyone else, that this kind of thing wasn't typical of Slade. It wasn't his style. Maybe he knew because, although he hated to admit, he and Slade _were_ a little similar, and it wasn't _his_ style either. Definitely not.

And throughout it all, the masks had remained in place. He still had his identity, even if he had nothing else, and the same applied to Slade. Robin himself might have spent all his waking hours trying to unravel what was behind the mask, but Slade hadn't. He didn't care who Robin really was; that much was obvious. Dick Grayson meant nothing to him. Maybe he didn't want to know who the bane of his plans actually was, better for him to remain a costumed identity.

Batman's child.

Not Bruce Wayne's child.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Robin asked finally, his voice hushed, his words bouncing off the empty walls and echoing a chorus of similarly confused and frightened Boy Wonders.

The not-so-wonderful Boy Wonder. Well, he could believe that. He knew he was stupid.

"There's nothing to say."

Slade's voice was cold, brittle, dismissive… and a little remorseful. Robin couldn't feel sorry for him; he could only hate him. But maybe not as much as he should have done. There was still the issue of why, the motive in the madness. He knew it wasn't anywhere near as simple as it seemed.

"No, there isn't."

"Be quiet."

Robin could hear him moving in the dark and knew he was pulling his clothes back on. He wished he could do the same, so he could get down to some serious vengeance. But he couldn't move an inch, even though he tried yet again in vain.

And then Slade was there, towering over his immobile, vulnerable, naked form. He was fully clothed again, cast in semi-shadow. In one hand he held a long, beautifully-crafted samurai blade that glinted in the dull, scarce light.

"Time to die, Robin."

He very slowly and deliberately moved the tip of the weapon to Robin's throat, not quite touching him, but almost.

Robin swallowed. It had never occurred to him that Slade would actually kill him. He had never made much of an effort before, and at times when he was truly capable of beating the Teen Titan to death, he usually bailed out. Maybe he wanted to extend his fun.

But not this time, it seemed.

He was going to die. He knew it, he really was going to die. He could see it in Slade's single cold grey eye that he wasn't bluffing, threatening him to see what impact it had on him. He really had every intention of killing him.

But that was the beauty of it. After all, he and Slade were _so very alike_… so it was easy to trump him.

"You're a coward," Robin said softly, almost tauntingly. Slade's eye narrowed slightly and he moved the edge of the sword down to Robin's stomach.

"You've got _guts_, I'll give you that…"

_Bad pun, waaay bad…_

"Yeah?" Robin allowed himself to smirk a little, but it diminished immediately as the tip of the blade came dangerously close to his midriff, almost tracing bare skin.

Slade seemed amused.

"Yeah. That you would insult me when I hold your life in my hands. I could, and _would_, plunge this into you right now; I might do it any second. You cannot protect yourself, you are not wearing any clothing, not that it would aid you anyway…"

"That's what I mean," Robin spat. "Are you _afraid _of me? Do you really need me to be completely vulnerable for you to kill me? And do you really need a sword?..."

"I suggest you hold your tongue, Robin," Slade answered icily. "Unless you wish to lose it."

"I'm not afraid of you," Robin spat back acidly. But he knew his tone betrayed his words. He was terrified, and he couldn't hide it in his current position.

"I think you are, Robin."

Robin breathed out and said nothing, almost sensing how close the tip of the weapon was to his stomach.

"I admire you, you know, Robin," Slade told him softly. Robin blinked up at him, rendered speechless for a few seconds.

"You… admire me!" He choked finally. "You _admire_ me! Look what you've _done_ to me! How can you even-"

"I didn't want to do it. We've been through this. And for what it's worth… as much as I loathe you, I apologise."

"Then _why_ did you!" Robin shrieked. "_Why!_"

"It doesn't matter. At least, not to you."

"I think you'll find it does."

Again, Slade seemed amused.

"Well, I can understand that. But you're right… I'm being a coward by killing you this way." He threw the sword to one side, where it clattered on the hard floor several feet away.

"I owe you this much," he went on, his tone very soft and barely audible. "You're like a mirror image of me; a much younger one, of course, a weaker, more naïve version. But a mirror image nonetheless. You didn't notice too much when I removed my mask, but…we even look a little alike. At least, we _did_, maybe when I was your age…"

"Your eyes… _eye_… is grey," Robin stated. "Mine are blue."

"Well, I'm not trying to prove I'm your father or anything," Slade shrugged. "The truth stands, Robin, that we are pretty much two of a kind, not by flesh and blood, but by mind, soul and nature. We're alike, and you cannot deny it. Truth be told…" He leaned over Robin, casting the boy completely into shadow. "…I don't really want to kill you. I think it's a waste."

He straightened up and snapped his fingers.

"Release him," he ordered his mercenaries. The robots relinquished their strong grip on Robin's since-violated body and moved away from him, allowing him to sit up.

"You've got five minutes to clean yourself up and get dressed," Slade told him sharply. "Then the prophecy will be fulfilled."

He started to walk away as Robin drew his knees up to his bare chest and gazed after him, knowing he was lucky he wasn't in about fifty different pieces scattered around the room.

Shame he couldn't say the same for his clothes. He reached out and picked up the nearest scrap, a small shred of green spandex that had once been a part of his trousers. Hardly practical.

"Get dressed," Slade had ordered. Well, it was a nice idea, but…

Just looking at it made him feel like throwing up. It was difficult to comprehend what had happened between him and Slade, mostly because he didn't _want_ to comprehend it. But it had happened, and it had been a very different experience to the one he had shared with Raven all those months ago; a candlelit rendezvous, passionate and forbidden, and they had lost themselves to the most beautiful of all sins while enshrouded upon a lagoon of black satin. But not this time; held down on a cold, hard floor by a dozen robots and homosexually raped by his arch-nemesis. For "some" reason, the lost-virginity-with-Raven experience was tipping the scales in its favour. And yet, Slade seemed pretty much unruffled…

"Do you realise what you've done?..." Robin asked softly, directing the question to Slade's retreating back.

"Unfortunately."

Slade turned back to face him, running his single grey eye over the Boy Wonder's curled-up form.

"Well?"

Robin didn't answer; he didn't have to. He simply held up the tiny scrap of green spandex. Slade looked at him for a second, then abruptly turned away and walked off into the shadows.

Robin sighed and tossed the scrap of fabric away. He found his boxer shorts a few feet away and was relieved to note that they at least, along with his boots and belt, were still pretty much intact. He ventured forward and rescued them, pulling them on and making himself a little more decent.

"You may leave now."

Robin looked up.

"Well, I would-" He began, nettled.

"Not you, idiot boy," Slade interrupted snappily. "I mean _them_."

The mercenaries shuffled off back to their hiding places at the sound of their master's command. Meanwhile Slade came to Robin and dropped something in front of him, something that landed with a soft _thump_, and judging by the muffled clattering that accompanied it, Robin realised there was a bit of metal in there too.

"Don't just stare at it," Slade snapped. "Put it on. Your five minutes are seriously dwindling."

Robin scooped Slade's "gift" off the floor and stood up, uncrumpling the folds of material.

Material that felt very familiar.

He let it fall out to full length and held it by the shoulders.

And simply stared at it.

Another apprentice outfit. The familiar black and bronze spandex and leather-combo he had been forced to wear. The one that was far too clingy, even for his liking. The one that sported an "S" for Slade in the place of an "R" for Robin. He looked down at his feet and saw the additional "accessories" that went with this delightful catwalk-inspired number; shoulder, arm, thigh and shin guards, breastplate, belt with little leather pouches, chunky boots and leather gloves.

All for additional villainous fun.

"I'm not wearing this," he deadpanned.

"Fine," Slade's voice issued from the shadows, equally flat in tone. He smirked beneath his mask. "Only one minute left. _Tick tick tick_…"

Robin merely continued to stare loathingly at the outfit in his hands, all the while hearing Slade continuing to softly count down the final minute with his repetitive chanting of "tick tick tick".

Something had to give. He could no more fight in his underwear than he could naked. But there was nothing else he'd rather not have worn than _this_. After what had just happened…

He glanced around wildly again, seeing if anything of his own costume was salvageable. No luck. He gave the apprentice outfit one last, lingering, loathing glare, then unzipped it roughly and aggressively pulled it on, hating the feeling of it against his bare skin even more than he had the first time. Of course, Slade could be watching his every movement, but he doubted it somehow; Slade seemed pretty disgusted with himself, to say the least.

He pulled on the boots and gloves, his only comfort in thinking how they would aid him in his vengeance; how he would savour every punch, every kick…

He heard Slade approaching him yet again as he clicked the metal breastplate and limb-guards into place, the last touch being the belt. It was only as he fastened it around his waist that it hit him; _why_ had Slade brought a spare outfit, specially fitted for Robin as the other had been, to Arkham Asylum when his plan had been to rape and kill him? Convenient?...

Yeah. A little _too_ convenient…

"You wanted this…" Robin realised softly. "You don't want to kill me… you want me to join you, don't you? What do you want… I mean, what do you think this is? _Apprentice: The Rewrite?_!"

"You don't understand, Robin-" Slade started angrily.

"Oh, I understand!" Robin yelled, his own anger reaching near boiling point. "I understand that you're completely _mad_, thinking I would join you anyway, under _normal_ circumstances! But this! Do you realise what you've _done?_! To me! To _yourself?_! You can't just pretend that this is just another of our inquisitively-fuelled run-ins! You had to _blackmail_ me last time, and that was before.. before you…"

"Say it," Slade hissed dangerously. "Go on; _say it_."

"Before you raped me!" Robin screamed at him. "Don't you _understand?_! You're a _rapist_! I don't know why you did it, but you can't change it now; it's too late."

_It's too late for you to be anything other than what you have become…_

Slade didn't respond for a few seconds. He knew Robin spoke the truth, and he had no intention of denying that the Teen Titan was right. But Robin simply _didn't_ understand.

"Robin, why can't you ever try to see it any other way but your own?" He asked eventually. Robin snorted.

"Better my way than yours."

"Are you sure?" Slade pressed. He stepped towards Robin and the boy warily backed away. Slade stopped, deciding not to push his luck for the moment; it was perfectly natural – and understandable – for Robin to be wary, a little afraid.

And angry.

"Robin, I've apologised to you, and I know that doesn't suddenly make it all better, but I suppose I owe you some form of explanation and this is the closest you are going to get to one, so listen to me."

"I don't want to hear anything you've got to say," Robin spat, clenching his fists. Slade shrugged his broad shoulders.

"That I do not doubt." Slade ran his icy gaze over Robin again, taking in his defensive stance, his clenched fists, his evenly-spread weight, the scowl set darkly on his face. He was in a perfect position to launch into an attack, but there was no way of telling when he might even think of moving.

One of the many qualities Slade admired about him, although he supposed that Robin owed that particular attribute to Batman. It was the other things, the things hidden within his mind and soul, which Slade found more interesting.

It was a real shot in the dark, but a worthy shot nonetheless. What he needed to do was expand on that "mirror-image" metaphor, make Robin see the light. Or rather, see the dark… And in a recreational hall… there was a full-length mirror.

"You don't like that outfit, do you?" Slade asked softly, already affirming the answer as negative, as he stepped towards Robin and watched him move backwards. Unwittingly towards the mirror.

"I hate it. You know I hate it." Robin's fists unclenched as Slade slowly and deliberately drove him backwards.

"Why?"

"Because it makes me look like you!" Robin spat. "And I don't want to have anything to _do_ with you!"

Slade shrugged again.

"The outfit means nothing. What matters is that you are like me anyway."

"No I'm not." Robin bumped against something and couldn't go back any further. He started to panic as Slade closed in on him.

"You are," Slade insisted. "All you have to do is _look_."

He suddenly reached out and roughly grasped Robin by his shoulders, forcing him around to face the mirror he had backed up against.

"Don't," Robin said desperately, struggling in Slade's strong grip. He didn't want Slade touching him, and he didn't want another reminiscence of that dream…

"Just look, Robin," Slade said calmly.

"I don't want to!" Robin wailed. "I'm not like you! I'm _not!_"

"I beg to differ."

Robin calmed slightly, although his flesh still crawled at Slade's touch, and he finally looked in the reflective glass.

And he wanted to break down sobbing.

Both cast in semi-shadow, shafted light obscuring their features, dressed in similar attire, the proud master with his hands resting on the shoulders of his perfect apprentice. That's what it looked like. And that's how Slade wanted it to be. Even after everything, Slade still wanted it that way.

Robin didn't.

"Robin, I know I cannot expect you to accept me as anything other than a potential threat after what I have done to you," Slade said softly. "But all I ask for is a little cooperation. You cannot deny that we are similar; two of a kind, even. If you would allow me, I could train you, teach you everything I know. You are brilliant as it is but with the right mentor you could be so much more. Nobody is perfect, but you _could_ be. I have no desire to kill you, even though it has been stated that you must die to sustain my success. But if instead you joined me you would have no reason to die. You would have the kind of exhilaration you crave, the adrenaline rush you thrive on. You and Terra; you could be a team together, an unstoppable force. Terra is strong, but you could be so much _stronger_. Last time I went about this the wrong way- I know you resented being blackmailed, but the truth is, Robin, that I truly believe that you could be transformed into the perfect weapon. I could teach you to kill with a single blow; all my technology, expertise, fighting technique, it would all be yours. And I only say this Robin, because I really do want to teach you. I originally hand-picked you to be my apprentice because I saw the potential there. I never intended for you to like me; I just want you to understand what I am offering you. You have been trained excellently by Batman, but only up to a point. _I_ could take you all the way to the top. What you need is a key to unlock your full potential, your power; you do not have it as it is."

Robin simply stared piercingly at his reflection, a conflict warring within him. The dream had predicted this, and unless he wanted to end up murdering his friends he had to stay strong and refuse. He _did_ want to refuse; he couldn't work with Slade, not after this… But, still, he had to admit it was a little… well, _tempting_. Just a little. He didn't care that much for fighting expertise that he would throw away all his moral values and work for someone who had raped him. But that aside, it was a very good offer. He hated Slade more than anything, his hatred now tripled at least, but he had no doubt that the villain would train him very well indeed. It might be interesting just to see… But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't. All the fighting expertise and technology in the entire cosmos wasn't worth a tainted soul. The blood of his friends.

"I'd rather die," Robin spat venomously.

Slade didn't need to be refused twice. His hands moved from Robin's shoulders faster than lightning and he sent the boy to the floor with a cracking blow.

"Then you will," Slade hissed in reply.

And Robin knew it was over; no more Mr Nice-Villain. Unless he really fought back, Slade was going to kill him. And somehow the Teen Titan got the feeling Slade wasn't going to be crying over him for long. Maybe a little over the loss of his potential "perfect apprentice", but for no other reason.

They were all the same.

Robin stood up, coming up against the mirror again, then moved at the very last second as Slade swung a powerful backfist at his face. He dived into a roll and whipped around as the harsh shattering sound of the mirror smashing met his ears. The leather glove Slade wore protected his hand from being cut to shreds as the mirror split into rippling cracks and cascaded to the floor in a shower of broken glass. They glinted patronisingly in the dim light as Slade slowly and deliberately turned to face the Boy Wonder, who stood in a tense battle stance, his fists clenched.

"That's the last time you get lucky, boy," Slade whispered dangerously. He approached slowly, languidly, but Robin knew not to take it lightly. Slade had every intention of killing him, even if he had never expressed the desire before.

Slade suddenly grounded himself and spun into a roundhouse so fast and powerful Robin couldn't even roll with it and was instead sent sprawling. He grunted a little in pain as he rolled over and scrambled to his feet, and found Slade in front of him again. He threw his arms up in a block as Slade swung at him, parrying the worst of the blow but still staggered backwards a few paces, the weight difference tipping the scale decidedly in Slade's favour, the older man being taller and heavier for obvious reasons.

Robin spread his weight and instinctively reached to the back of his belt for his staff. His fingers instead came into contact with empty leather pouches.

No birdarangs. No staff. Nothing.

He dared to look behind him and saw his belt lying at least twenty feet away, and his discarded staff a further ten feet away.

"Looking for something?"

Slade's falsely-innocent voice sounded too close for comfort and Robin looked back sharply. Slade was a few feet away from him, and was idly twirling his own BO staff in his fingers. The villain glanced lazily at his teen arch-nemesis and followed his dismayed gaze to the staff.

"Oh, _this_." Slade's voice disguised laughter and he held the staff out, offering it to the Teen Titan. Robin's fingers flexed, as though he was debating taking it; then he stepped backwards, away from it and its owner.

"Smart lad," Slade breathed mockingly. He adjusted his grip on the metal, then swung it with expert strength and precision and sent Robin back to the floor, where the boy was thinking about taking up permanent residence; he was certainly spending a lot of time down here. Nevertheless he rolled then flipped upright and threw all of his weight behind a punch, driving all the force and power he possessed into it. Slade caught his fist, got a grip on him and threw him against the wall, where Robin slid down in a sitting position, rubbing the back of his neck above the metal breastplate. He looked up and saw the end of the staff coming at his face and jerked his head to one side. The staff crunched against the wall where he had been a split-second before and the tip became embedded in the bad plaster-job of the wall, momentarily stuck. Robin saw his chance as Slade tried to tug it back out; he reached up, grasped the body of the staff and used it as a leverage to smash his legs out and throw Slade backwards away from him. Wasting no time he hauled himself to his feet, put one foot against the wall behind him, gripped the staff and heaved it out of the wall, a few chunks of plaster and dust coming with it. His fingers closed over it comfortably as he heard Slade get to his feet and he allowed himself the tiniest of smirks.

He darted forwards in an offensive _kata_ taught and perfected by Batman, every movement coming as easily to him as breathing, the staff twisting dangerously and expertly in his hand.

He doubted that Slade could teach him as well as Batman had. Batman was a perfectionist and a martial arts master; a lethal combination.

He cracked Slade full-on with the width of the metal staff, breaking his defence, then twisted the angle at which he held it and jabbed it forwards and down, aligning himself behind it, almost hearing the echo of Batman telling him how to do it, demonstrating it, showing him when he got it wrong the first time how to do it properly, how to really inflict damage…

He sent Slade crunching to the floor, tightened his grip on the staff, almost hearing Batman curtly praise him… Batman never went over the top with his praises, believing it led to over-confidence and arrogance, which in turn led to certain death through cockiness. But he did it with enough warmth and grace to let you know he was pleased with you.

Yes, he sincerely doubted that Slade could prove himself a better teacher than Batman.

Slade rolled backwards and sent a snap-kick in the direction of the staff, no doubt to knock it out of Robin's possession. Robin blocked the blow on one of the metal arm-guards and swung the staff. However, this time Slade was ready for him and caught the staff before it hit him, twisting it and so twisting Robin's arm. Slade pulled him around so that the boy's back was to him, enabling him to exert more pressure on his twisted arm, now holding his wrist. Robin cried in pain but refused to let go of the staff.

"Drop it," Slade whispered. "Drop it before I snap your arm…"

Robin gritted his teeth against the unbearable pain, feeling tears that he couldn't possibly prevent leaking from under his mask and sliding down his face.

"Drop it," Slade said again, his voice taking on an almost song-like lilt. He twisted a little harder just to justify his threat and it was all Robin could do to stop himself from screaming. He had to let go, he couldn't stand the pain, and a broken arm would _not_ be an advantage to him…

It slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor, and after a few further torturous seconds Slade let go of his arm. He kicked the Titan in the back, throwing him forwards to his knees. Robin collapsed in a crumpled heap, his breathing shallow and the pain his left arm slowly but surely dulling. He didn't understand why Slade _hadn't_ broken his arm but he was grateful for it.

He did know _one_ thing though, and that was that Slade was really enjoying torturing him little by little to death. He had thought he had the upper hand a few moments ago, but now he knew that Slade had been in control from the very first blow.

He hauled himself to his knees and wiped the tears from his face on the wrist of his black leather glove. He briefly glanced across the room and saw the Joker lying face down, still out for the count and completely oblivious of everything going on around him, of the sick homosexual desire and the rape and the near-corruption and now the murder-attempt…

_Lucky for some…_

He dragged himself to his feet and spun into a low sweep that Slade backflipped away from. Robin cartwheeled forwards, closing the gap, but was sent back the direction he had came by a high, hard kick to his chest. He heard something in his thin ribcage crack and felt staggering pain shooting through his chest as he slammed onto his back. He tried to sit up but the pain stole his breath and he fell back, trying to calm his quick, desperate breathing. He might have got off scot-free where the broken arm was concerned, but he had acquired a broken rib instead.

The pain was spreading throughout his entire chest now and he moaned in agony as he rolled over in an attempt to get to his knees. Instead he felt Slade press his foot squarely in the middle of his back, pressing down, pushing his snapped rib against the hard floor. He moved a little, a sort of half-attempt to escape from under Slade's weight, which quickly gave way to a groan. His eyes slid closed beneath behind his mask and he bit his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming. But he did little else.

Slade snorted.

"You've given up, haven't you?" He sounded incredulous. "You really do surprise me, Robin."

Slade pushed down a little harder, as though trying to see if he could get the Boy Wonder to scream, but all he got was a little groan and he seemed disappointed. He lifted his foot off the Titan and crouched down next to him, grasping a handful of his untidy raven hair.

"Get up," he ordered softly. "I'm _far_ from finished with you."

He let the boy go and Robin complied with his order, struggling to his knees, one hand clutching at his ribcage.

"Pity your little witch friend isn't here," Slade taunted. "Terra said she can heal by taking the infliction into her own body and then banishing it. _That_ would be interesting to see."

"You're sick," Robin spat breathlessly. Slade snorted again.

"If I cared what you think, I'd be extremely offended," he said flatly. "Unfortunately, I don't."

"Feeling's mutual," Robin informed him icily.

"Then we agree on one thing at least."

Robin staggered upright, not daring to take his hand from his broken rib, even though it didn't soothe the pain at all. Slade watched him, his head a little to one side, seemingly interested in the Teen Titan's pained actions. Robin didn't know how he knew Slade was smirking, but he just did. And he was right.

If only he could get to his utility belt, he might have an advantage. But it was too far away and he knew Slade wouldn't let him get anywhere near it. Instead he slowly and gingerly took his hand away from his ribcage, not daring to breathe too heavily to spare the pain it caused. Slade seemed highly amused.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" He asked mockingly, his voice so soft it was barely audible in the huge recreational hall. Robin didn't answer, instead trying to comply with the direct order his brain was sending him; _Don't die, moron_!

_Seriously working on it_, was his only response.

Pushing aside the burning pain in chest and the dull ache still present in his left arm he launched himself forwards into a handspring, landing in a low crouch and swinging his weight upwards into an uppercut. He successfully hit Slade, sending him staggering backwards several paces, but fresh pain burst into his right hand as it connected with the villain's mask and he recoiled it, biting back several expletives. Willing himself to ignore it he snapped a split-kick at Slade's throat but Slade roughly caught his foot and shoved him off-balance. Robin slammed to the floor, sending pain careering through his chest, but got up again, even though by this point all he really wanted to do was lie down and allow death to claim him.

He pulled his arm back and threw the strongest punch he could possibly muster; Slade avoided it, caught his arm and threw him across the recreational hall, where he tumbled over and over in his least graceful landing in months. He managed to right himself and scraped to a halt, skidding so low to the floor he was almost on his side. He scrabbled to his feet and dived at Slade in a brute-attack, slamming into the villain and bringing them both to the floor in a tangled heap. Robin, being smaller and lither, had the advantage in this scenario and managed to writhe free, making the most of the situation and diving for his belt. Slade, however, was wise to him, and snatched out and caught his ankle, tripping the boy up so that he fell flat on his face.

And his broken rib.

Robin let out a sort of half-scream, then managed to control himself as Slade released his ankle. He rolled over, took a deep breath and sat up, rolling again as Slade's fist came flying at his face. He came to his feet, straightened up and was sent on another adventure to the floor six feet away as he received a hard dragonfly kick to the chest. He crumpled, his chest feeling as though it was about to collapse, the pain of his broken rib now tripled at least… he couldn't even draw the breath to scream. He retched and choked up a mouthful of saliva and blood, wishing that Slade would stop toying with him and just kill him.

He had completely lost the will to fight back.

He collapsed in a quivering heap, unable to even get up onto his knees.

"And you were doing so well."

He felt Slade's shadow fall across his crumpled form and didn't even attempt to look up. Slade crouched down next to him and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, hauling him painfully to his knees.

"My fun is _far _from over yet, Robin," Slade went on, his voice dangerous. "So I think you had better make a bit more of an effort, hmm?"

He dragged the Teen Titan right to his feet and let him go, where Robin forced himself to remain, clutching desperately at his damaged ribcage. With his other hand he wiped the rope of bloody saliva hanging from his lip and pushed his untidy ebony hair out of his eyes. He barely followed the roundhouse kick that sunk into his abdomen, throwing him backwards a further five feet. He landed in a sprawling heap and his hand brushed against something. He struggled to open his eyes and saw his utility belt mere millimetres from his fingertips. He was winded, in terrible pain, but he managed to roll over and allow his hand to close around it. He started to draw it towards him and felt something slam down hard on his hand. He heard something snap and pain shot up his arm like an electric shock. He cried out in pain but still held onto his belt, feeling uninvited tears leak from his eyes again.

"Let it go," Slade ordered calmly, pushing down harder with his heavy boot on the broken bones of Robin's right hand. Robin moaned in pain but refused to obey, even though he was starting to lose the feeling in his hand and so was unsure if he was even holding on anyway.

"Fine." Slade took this refusal as an invitation to hurt the Boy Wonder all the more and he sat heavily on Robin's back, his substantial weight crushing Robin's broken rib and weakening several others, his foot still on the Titan's hand.

Robin's eyes snapped open, his breath being forced out of his sore lungs, choking as he tried to scream in a purely reflexive action.

Slade placed his head in his hands, seemingly bored.

"Let go of the belt," he repeated, tapping his foot on Robin's injured hand with every syllable. Robin gasped in pain every time it touched until finally Slade lifted his foot off altogether and Robin's fingers relinquished their already-loose grip on the yellow utility belt.

"Good boy." Slade leaped lightly off Robin's back and kicked the belt across the room into the shadows. Then he reached down and grasped Robin by the belt he actually wore around his waist, pulling him away from the floor. Robin hung limp in his grip, his entire body heaving with every desperate breath. Slade studied him sceptically, actually disappointed by the lack of a fight Robin was putting up.

That was, until Robin suddenly jerked his broken hand downwards and threw several smoke pellets hard at the floor, where they exploded into a torrent of smoke that engulfed the pair of them, sending Slade into a coughing fit whereupon he let go of Robin's belt. Robin rolled painfully and scrambled to his feet, all the while holding his breath. Ignoring the pain shooting through his body as best he could, he fought his way out of the blinding pasture of smoke and fled, leaping over the unconscious Joker and scooping up his belt before bursting from the recreational hall into the corridor. With his good hand he held both his belt and his agonized ribcage, his injured right hand smarting with every movement he made as he tried to scrunch it into a fist.

He ran, every step taxing him to the limit, his breath coming like liquid fire into his lungs, the pain from his cracked rib threatening to split his chest in two. Still he ran, his head swimming and his vision blacking with the pain, confusion overwhelming his senses as the asylum merged into one huge maze, corridor after corridor all the same until he was sure he was running around in circles. But still, better to die running; better to kill himself than to let Slade do it.

He finally staggered into a corridor he didn't recognise and stopped running, leaning against the wall as the breathless wreck he was. The only time he had ever been in more pain was when Poison Ivy had inflicted him with poison, but that memory had soon faded. At least now he could run.

He didn't know how long it would be until Slade or one of his mercenaries found him, but knew he had to use what precious little time he had to recuperate as best he could. At least he had his belt now.

There was a single door at the end of the corridor and he painfully made his way towards it, praying that it wasn't locked. He tried it and it swung silently open; breathing a sigh of relief that was perhaps heavier than necessary, he slipped into the dark room beyond and pulled the door shut behind him. He went a little way in and let pain overwhelm him and he allowed himself to collapse, rolling onto his back and sprawling out, taking slow, deep breaths to combat the pain as best he could.

He wished more than anything that he hadn't left his communicator at the Tower. Real moment of madness, that. He wished Raven were here to ease the pain; she would do it in a heartbeat, he knew, not just for him, but for any of them. He wished they were _all_ here, to comfort him and to help him. To count on.

But he knew whose fault that was; his own. They couldn't even track him. Which meant he had to save himself.

He lay there for at least another ten minutes, his only companions pain and darkness. But he couldn't complain; it was better than being murdered by his arch-nemesis. He was glad he had thought to grab the smoke pellets before Slade had crunched his hand. He owed that to Batman's No #1 rule; Escapism is a weapon in itself. Robin doubted that Houdini himself had anything on Batman when it came to ingenious escapes. He hated to run from Slade, but he knew Slade would have killed him had he not escaped. Because for all his fears of turning on his friends, of becoming Slade, and his thoughts that for these reasons he might be better off dead, he didn't really want to die. He certainly had no intention of slitting his wrists or poisoning himself, at any rate.

Finally he reached for his yellow belt with his left hand and sifted through it until he came to a small penlight. He flicked it on and sat up, moaning in agony as a spasm of pain shuddered through his chest. He staggered to his feet and flicked the tiny light around the room, trying to see where he was. He gingerly stepped forwards and tripped over something, hurting his smashed hand as he saved himself from further injury. Rolling onto his knees he ran the penlight across the object he had tripped over and saw it to be a spotlight plugged into a power box. He flicked on the switch and it sprang to life, the dazzling glare blinding him as the other had done so that he had to shield his masked eyes as before. The bright beam stretched down the room, illuminating most of it quite well.

He flicked off his penlight and tossed it aside, overseeing the need for it now. Taking a deep breath he got to his feet, his left hand still clutching at his ribs, and looked around. It wasn't a cell of any kind, nor was it a recreational hall or cafeteria or anything else like that. In the wide beam of the portable spotlight he could see tall, grey metal filing cabinets lining the walls, some of them open and stuffed full of cream card folders; criminal records. Some of the open drawers were also empty and there were records scattered all over the floor where someone had ransacked them in search of something. Maybe one of the escaped criminals looking to destroy their file. At the furthest end of the room there was a large metal desk, chrome or pewter, by the look of it, with a matching metal chair, high-backed and padded with red corduroy. A blue plastic tray, which he guessed had once resided on the desk, was on the floor next to the desk, upside-down and with more files scattered around it. But a small collection of other objects took the tray's place; he could see something glinting in the bright light.

Curious, intrigued and a little suspicious, Robin made his way over to the desk and collapsed heavily and gratefully into the chair, then leaned forward and inspected his finds. The thing that demanded his attention first was a small ball, the size of a tangerine, maybe, a beautiful onyx orb that glittered in the light, all shades of purples and blues dashed through it. It rested in a deep silver cradle, beautifully crafted, with a hole in foremost middle, like some kind of keyhole or something. It was strangely entrancing, but weird and a little creepy with it. It looked like the sort of ornament you would find in Raven's bedroom. But something told him this was no ornament.

His hand reached out almost unwillingly, tracing his fingertips over the smooth contour of the orb, feeling some sort of power crackling from deep within it. Definitely no ornament. But still, it felt – and looked – familiar… somehow. He picked it up, taking it gently out of its silver cradle, feeling how heavy it was in his hand, but feeling a sort of dark energy pulsing through it, into him…

He put it down again; it was starting to creep him out Big Time. Instead he turned his attention to the other objects on the desk. One was another criminal record; he picked it up in his left hand and examined it, his eyes widening as he read it; Joker, the.

The break-in. All just a distraction. But that meant that the person who had broken into Arkham Asylum was…

Slade. Robin frowned. What would Slade have wanted with the Joker? By the sound of it, they hadn't liked each other at all, so why the partnership?...

Placing the record to one side, he turned his attention to the last object on the desk; a roll of filthy, ratty parchment, yellow and crinkled with age, tied with a piece of leather cord. His curiosity now almost overwhelming he picked it up in his good hand and painfully loosened the cord with his broken right. Once free he unrolled it, putting an elbow on it to keep it flat, and saw that there were two other pieces of paper rolled up inside it. He pushed them to one side and scanned down the parchment. He sighed heavily as he realised he couldn't read it; it was in some weird language, little symbols he didn't recognise. Not Egyptian or Greek, nor Oriental kanji…

He put the parchment on top of the Joker's file and picked up the other two pieces of paper that had been rolled up inside it. One was a page torn from a newspaper, a sensationalised account from Jump City's leading tabloid about the theft of the Orb of Azarath from Jump City Museum.

Robin's masked eyes widened as he quickly read down it, his hand reaching for the small stone ball on the desk beside him. There was a black and white picture slapped in the middle of the columns, one Robin had already seen in the file-photo when he and Beast Boy had done the inquiry a few days ago. He picked up the ball and looked at it, then looked at the picture, then back again.

_Well, if that don't beat all…_

He couldn't believe it. Talk about an easy case. Hell, he'd sure suffered for it; discovered a homosexual side to his personality he hadn't known was there, been raped and almost murdered, and no way was he off the hook yet, that was for sure, but this was ridiculous. Either Slade had decided to become an antiques collector – with a criminal twist – or there was a helluva lot more to this little orb than appeared.

So, Slade had broken into the museum and stolen the Orb of Azarath, and he had also bust out every single criminal in Arkham Asylum, set them loose all over Gotham and formed a brief partnership with Gotham's Most Wanted. Add the fact that he had raped and nearly murdered his teen arch-nemesis and you had a whole new party game; Pin the Crime on the Criminal.

The big question still stood though; _why?_ What was the motive? Why the partnership with the Joker? Why the theft of this seemingly-useless little shelf ornament? Why… why the _rape?_

Robin folded the cutting and put it on top of the parchment, picking up the last sheaf of paper as he placed the orb back in its cradle. He cocked his head as he struggled to decipher the spidery scrawl adorning the page. Then he understood.

A translation. The first line stated that it was a translation of the "prophecy", whatever that was. He frowned. Hadn't the Joker said something about a prophecy? Right before Slade had knocked him out?...

He couldn't read it too well – the writing was atrocious – something about the apocalypse and an "Avenger", whatever the hell that was. He could also pick out "Orb of Azarath" and his suspicions were confirmed correct; the thing was definitely no ornament. According to this badly-scribed document it was a vessel of terrible power than would be unleashed and controlled by one of a Chosen Few, but such promises would only be fulfilled after the sexual tainting and subsequent death of the Avenger. The walls of its birthright Azarath would crumble and the mortal gods would be stripped of their powers and so be cast among the corpses of those whom they protected. The apocalypse would be at the command of the one who bore the orb's power.

_Wonder if our home insurance covers that? Must get Cy to check…_

There was one catch, however; apart from the demand for the Avenger to pretty much pop it, a key was needed to unlock the orb's power. He frowned again and looked briefly at it, taking in with more detail this time the hole in the front of the cradle. A keyhole _had_ crossed his mind…

He reached out and his left hand enclosed around the whole thing, the metal cradle freezing to the touch even through the black leather glove on his hand. He brought it close to his face, examining it, trying to ignore the weird feeling it seemed to send throughout his entire body, as though that dark power it possessed was attracted to his soul like an opposite charge and was being pulled into him against his will. His frown deepened as he looked very closely at the "keyhole"; it was diamond-shaped, but when he looked deeper he could see that it was prism-like, 3D, almost like a real cut diamond was supposed to fit into it. Odd shape for a "key", needless to say.

He put the Orb of Azarath down, not wishing to pick it up again, and turned his attention back to the prophecy. It puzzled him, to say the least; what the hell was Slade doing with it? Did it involve him? Why did he have the Orb of Azarath? And what was this… well, _fairytale_ all about? Because, yeah, ok, he'd seen some pretty weird stuff in his short life of 16 years; he knew for sure aliens existed because he'd nothing short of made out with one, he'd come up against some real freaks of nature, he'd almost died every way imaginable, he'd been kicked around at a prom for stealing some spider-guy's girlfriend, who come to think of it probably wasn't human either – her father was a _moth_ for petesakes – and he himself was the ex-sidekick of a guy who dressed like a giant bat. "Normal childhood" just wasn't on his résumé, but _this_…

_This_ was straight out of the chronicles of classical Greek mythology. Orbs, mortal gods and the apocalypse? All in one day?

_I think not…_

The closest thing he'd ever seen to a god was the fat cartoon on Beast Boy's "Happy Buddha Tofu Chips". Maybe stormy brothers Thunder and Lightning came a close second, but this was just stupid. Elaborated, he guessed; _heavily_ elaborated.

But still, he knew that the stolen orb was trouble with a capital "T". Even just looking at it, there was something about it he didn't like; and rightly so, as rotten as it sounded, if it had anything to do with Raven. Things that involved Raven were usually bad news. She'd almost murdered Poison Ivy – and Batman – without even realising. Of course, Robin himself had been on the verge of killing the Joker not even a month before, but it wasn't the same; _he_ hadn't blown up an entire garden with it. And then, of course, there had been that stormy night where Raven had been "Wickedly Scared" and had proceeded to make everyone else feel the same by unintentionally turning Titans Tower into a Hammer House of Horror, with only the absence of Christopher Lee dampening the otherwise-perfect atmosphere.

_Sooo_… what to do? He could take the orb with him, analyse it, ask Raven about it, find out what the deal was with it. He could hand it over to Batman, but what with the break-out here at Arkham he felt that poor Ol' Bats had quite enough to be going on with at the moment. He could go straight to Gotham P.D from here and give it to Commissioner Gordon, who would doubtlessly put detectives Montoya and that moron Bullock on the case; maybe not the best option, and the orb had been stolen from Jump City Museum, anyway. It wasn't really Gordon's – or Batman's – responsibility. He could take it to Jump P.D, but from experience he knew them to be incompetent and unprofessional, nowhere near Gotham's standards. He could return it to the museum, where he would hear the last of it; no doubt it would be discreetly moved to a different location. Metropolis, maybe.

No. He knew it wasn't really his place to be so choosy in his options, but none of them were right, exempt maybe the first one. But in the state he was in, would he even be able to get out of here at all, never mind in the possession of a stolen all-powerful orb?

_See, this is why they invented those nifty communicators…_

He looked back at the yellowed sheaf of paper, frowning at the symbols he couldn't recognise, and somehow felt that he _should_. Not through an irritated sense that he couldn't work it out, but something else, like it had been a language that had once spilled from his lips he had since forgotten. But it wasn't even real, surely? It was unlike any other language he had ever seen, like something invented by a little kid in math class as a way of communicating with their friends…

A code?... Yes, maybe… It shouldn't have mattered, not when he had read the translation, but he couldn't help but feel that there was something more contained within the original text, some kind of clue that would help to unravel this whole weird, unbelievable scenario. Maybe the entire thing was metaphoric, and the real meaning was like some kind of riddle, seemingly one thing but another entirely?... Surely that would make sense; there _were_ no mortal gods that he knew of…

"Having fun?"

Robin's head jerked up, his heart sinking…

There, leaning in the doorway, a horrible malicious glitter present in his single eye, was Slade.

* * *

Slade beating Robin to within an inch of his life? Oh, so we're back to normal now… Um, hope that _kind_ _of_ explains the translation thing… sort of… And yes, Robin does talk to himself a lot in my fics. Originally it was an incarnation of mine called "The Darker Mind" but I just ditched the name because it was annoying referring to it like that all the time. Basically, _my_ Robin is a bit of a psycho, talking to himself and such like…

Although… judging by _Haunted_, the actual animated version isn't far behind that assumption…

Not to worry, new chapter/s up soon, as long as you continue to tell me what you all think!

Titans again in the next chapter! And Batman! He's back! And Robin and Slade and _blahblahblah…_

Sorry it was so long…


	12. The Avenger's Destiny

Sorry I haven't updated for _ages_; I'd say I was too busy, but I'd be lying… Been working on _Small Print_ with Narroch06, though, and a brand new one-shot all about Cyborg (_Flaws_, if anyone likes Cy enough to want to read a fic solely about him. Robin's in there too, though; it's NOT slash…), so…

_Yeah_…

You know, I've never disclaimed anything on here that I've written. So, um… I don't own _Teen Titans_, or _Batman_, or anything else that I clearly swiped.

Obviously.

Yay; kiss-ass time…

To YamiTai (yup, Batman has entered the building, and Robin had better kiss his ass goodbye…); to Rocky Wolf (thanks for continued support, bubbie! Enjoying _The RockySlade Story!_); to Phoenix Skyborne (so _that's_ why you took algebra. I should have known you wouldn't take it off your own back… Updated _Small Print_, BTW); to Quinn (your suspicions about the key to the Orb of Azarath? So wrong, witch-hunter! _So wrong!_); to DarkMarkLv (yay! You came back to me! Yeah, I like Terra, and she will be in it a bit later on in the story. Actually, she's really important. Sorry to everyone who hates her; _why_ doesn't anyone like her?); to Narroch06, my partner-in-crime (_Small Print_ is looking more beautiful than ever! And, uh… enjoy this, too. This is how I met ya, right?); to Sketch a.k.a-Jessie Carlson (you reviewed chapter one, so here's hoping you're here by now… Glad you like it, though!); and to, um… _Dookie_ (why am I reminded of _Star Wars?…_ Oh yeah; _wookies_… Here's your update!).

Yami no Kaiba… come back! Oh, how I miss your morbidly-amused way of shooting me down… And there's plenty of _Small Print_ to entertain ya now, including a very "special" chapter 5…

Alexnandru Van Gordon; there's NO MORE SLASH, I promise!

Argh… Slade! Batman! The Titans! Let's get with it, people!

The Avenger's Destiny

"_Having fun?"_

Robin jumped at the sound of Slade's cold, soft voice, the action sending a shooting pain through his damaged chest. He had been so engrossed he hadn't heard Slade open the door and enter, not heard him close it behind him. The Boy Wonder looked up to see Slade leaning against the closed metal door, half-obscured by shadow, the spotlight picking out brilliant highlights in other places. His arms were folded lazily, and he appeared to be in no hurry to finish his murder contract; on the contrary, he seemed quite amused by what he had found, namely Sherlock Holmes Junior doing what he did best.

Robin slowly put the translation down on the metal desk on top of the original parchment, not taking his masked eyes off Slade for a second.

"I suppose I owe you yet another apology," Slade said quietly, the amusement in his voice evident. "I underestimated you; you are far cleverer than I thought. Who would have thought that you would have come here, of all the rooms and corridors in this asylum? But… here you are, and you seem to have discovered my little secret."

"You mean _this?_" Robin picked up the orb again, removing it from its silver nest. He held it out, his fingertips gripping it loosely.

"You have to admit I did a good job of stealing it."

Robin scowled. Yes, come to think of it, it had been an excellent theft; he had noticed it when doing the inquiry with Beast Boy, how expertly the system had been disabled, better than even Cyborg could have done, and that was definitely saying something. But Slade hadn't crossed his mind at all, moreover because he couldn't think what Slade would have wanted with the stolen orb in the first place. At least now it was a little more clear; power.

"I'd congratulate you if I didn't hate you so much," the Titan replied icily. Slade shrugged offhandedly.

"Tell me what you know," he said, his tone almost taunting. "What have you worked out? You must have figured it out by now, Robin."

Robin cocked his head.

"Worked out _what?_" He dropped the orb heavily back into its cradle. Slade nodded towards the sheets of paper adorning the metal desk.

"Well, my little prophecy there, for a start," he said languidly. "Surely you'll have realised by now that there is more to it than would first appear."

Robin nodded slowly, deciding it best to play along with Slade's seemingly-civil mood.

"Then you should understand things more clearly now. Why I had to do what I did."

Robin arched an eyebrow quizzically, watching Slade's every movement – or lack of.

"No." His other eyebrow joined the first. "Why would this have anything to do with-"

He was cut short as Slade snorted in disgust.

"Well, I must say I'm disappointed. Maybe I didn't underestimate you after all."

Robin's eyebrows dropped again as he scowled.

"Maybe you didn't, but I still can't see-"

"Then look," Slade interrupted him again. "Read it more carefully… Mr Bond." He smirked beneath his mask, the "Bond" being a sarcastic afterthought.

Robin looked at him for a long moment, hating him, then lowered his eyes to the translation on the desk. He read down it again, and again and again, trying to take it in and process it, to understand it as more than it appeared, look beyond the metaphors, if that was what it truly was.

And then, halfway through reading it for the fifth time, it finally hit him. Something Slade had said… what was it? About Robin needing a key to unlock his full potential, because at the moment he wasn't in possession of it?... And the compliments, about Robin being clever; the sarcastic "Mr Bond", as in secret agent, detective… Everything fitted; Slade's theft of the Orb of Azarath; it was a vessel of extreme power, placing the apocalypse at the command of the one who unlocked it, the translated prophecy stating the uprisal of the "Avenger", who would ultimately stop the reckoning from happening unless he was so killed following the impure tainting of his soul to tarnish the bond he held between the mortal gods and the world which they protected.

It had taken him long enough, but he understood. Little clues. Slade's hint at the needing of an unpossessed key, as in the key to the orb's power and not Robin himself. The rape. _Sexual tainting of the soul_…

_He_ was the damn "Avenger". Just his luck; as if he didn't have enough to deal with. Now he had an apocalypse to stop, or die trying.

_Yay…_

But Slade didn't have the key. Right, yeah, but he had tried to butter his rape-victim up, hadn't he? Tried to trick him into joining him, because if Robin was "oh-so-clever" he could work out and find the key to the orb. Then, doubtlessly, Slade would have killed him in his sleep after his guard was down and fulfilled the last part of the prophecy. Yeah, that seemed typical of Slade. Use the kid to his advantage, gain his trust, then kill him. After all, what apprentice would expect to be murdered by their trusted master?

So, key found, Avenger bumped off and power unleashed. He didn't even want to start imagining the horrors of what came next. But… did it really all rest on _his_ shoulders? There were the Titans to stop him, and the Justice League, and…

…_And the mortal gods would be stripped of their powers_. Mortal gods as in "Titans". Mortal gods as in Wonder Woman, daughter of the goddess Hippolyta and so a goddess in her own right. The superheroes – all of them – would be rendered powerless.

_That is so not good_…

Robin leaned back in the metal chair, trying to allow it to sink in. Even now it still hadn't fully registered with him that he had been raped, but _this_… He didn't want this; he didn't _need_ this. He didn't want for his destiny to have been mapped out centuries ago. And more to the point, his basic crime-fighter training had _not_ covered how to stop an apocalypse.

"Well?"

Robin slowly looked up at Slade, hating him even more, if that was at all possible. He glared balefully at his nemesis for a second or two, then suddenly reached out with his good hand and took the Orb of Azarath from it's silver cradle once more, gripping it tightly and holding it a fair distance from the hard floor.

"I say I drop this little orb, smash it to bits and stop this whole thing before it even begins," he spat. Slade's single grey eye widened ever so slightly.

"On the contrary, Robin, it's already begun."

He moved so suddenly and quickly Robin didn't have time to react; one second Slade was leaning lazily against the door, the next he was launching himself through the air directly at Robin's face. Robin dived out of the chair and rolled just as Slade smashed into the desk, missing him by a scant few inches. The Boy Wonder still held the orb tightly in his left hand as he whipped around and ducked a roundhouse kick aimed at his head. Pain screamed in his chest again with every movement, his broken hand throbbed painfully as he tried to clench it into a fist. Slade backhanded him and he staggered against the wall, couldn't sidestep quick enough as Slade grasped him around the throat and lifted him clear from the floor, pushing him against the wall and strangling him. Robin's grip on the fragile little orb loosened and Slade plucked it from the air as the Titan dropped it, releasing the boy as he did so. Robin stumbled forwards, massaging his neck, then straightened up, twisting his entire torso into his most powerful punch. Slade caught his arm, swept him off-balance and threw him headlong at the desk. Robin collided painfully with the metal desk and rolled off it onto the floor, where he landed in a crumpled heap; the Joker's criminal record and three pieces of paper concerning the orb – prophecy, translation and newspaper cutting – all fluttered off the desk on top of him.

Slade's shadow fell across his fallen form and he heard distinctly that the villain was placing the orb back into it's cradle.

"Believe me, I am truly sorry that it must be this way, Robin," Slade said, not sounding remorseful in the slightest. "Must be annoying, being handed such a responsibility, but the truth is that you were born to prevent this reckoning." Slade paused. "And _I_ was born to kill you and fulfil the prophecy. No hard feelings."

"Where did you get it?" Robin asked breathlessly, throwing the yellowed prophecy to one side. "Who gave you the prophecy? Who translated it for you? Who told you that… that _I_ was the Avenger?"

"I don't think that's your concern," Slade replied lightly. "And don't rip my prophecy."

For some reason Robin could feel insatiable anger overtaking his feelings of confusion and bewilderment.

"Do you understand what you have gotten yourself in to?" He spat, getting to his knees. "You shouldn't mess about with this kind of thing."

Slade was extremely amused.

"Listen to you; you sound like my mother."

"What mother could ever love you?" Robin retorted, his voice shaking with anger. "After what you've done?"

"What have I done?"

Robin stared at him in utter exasperation.

"You… you… what do you… You _raped_ me, for godssakes!" Robin shrieked, finally snapping. "And you did it because of _this!_ Because of greed, a lust for power… _You did it because a piece of paper told you to!_"

"I don't recall denying it," Slade said calmly. "But it had to be done, and now you know why. The seer told me you couldn't be a virgin or the prophecy would fail to be fulfilled."

"But I _wasn't _a virgin when I walked in here!" Robin yelled, getting to his feet and leaning against the desk. He hadn't told anyone, he and Raven had made a secret vow to keep it a "secret between birds" for as long as they lived. But now he was standing here yelling it at _Slade_, of all people, because suddenly the vow made no difference; Slade had raped him and it hadn't even been necessary.

Slade paled slightly beneath his mask.

"You… you weren't?"

Of course, the seer had said that, reminded him that Robin was a male teenager with more hormones than he could cope with. But Slade truly hadn't thought that Robin… well, Bird-boy just didn't seem the type.

"When?" Slade asked weakly. Ok, a little too personal there, but he had to know. Because if that damn seer had known all along, then…

Robin hesitated in giving his answer; he didn't owe Slade that kind of information.

"A few months ago," he answered truthfully after a few second's awkward silence. The silence reigned again as the words left his lips.

"I didn't know," Slade said eventually; he sounded genuinely sorry. "If I had known I… I wouldn't have done it."

_But she had known; that seer had known. She must have done. She knew just about everything else…_

And she had let him do it; in fact, she had led him to believe that it was necessary. She had hinted at the idea in the first place. Almost like… like she found it amusing, entertaining even. But _why?_

"Was it really necessary?" Robin asked patronisingly, his tone soft. "Did you want power that badly that you would…?" He trailed off, knowing it was a stupid question; Slade had already proved the affirmative.

"Destiny calls, Robin," was Slade's only reply. "And I'm afraid that it once again sees us as enemies. If you won't help me find the key then I'll just kill you now."

"What, join you so you can kill me when I turn my back on you?" Robin asked; he snorted with forced laughter. "_Not_ your best idea…"

Slade shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Maybe not," he agreed. "But the prophecy must be fulfilled, and so you must die, my little Avenger…"

Slade snapped a kick to Robin's chest, sending the boy to the floor where he moaned and curled up, clutching at his broken rib. Slade approached and stood over the quivering Titan as he struggled to his knees, his previously exhausted and beaten state returning immediately. Slade kicked him back down as he tried to get up and Robin swept his feet from under him as he did so. Slade lost his balance and tumbled into a roll while Robin scrambled to his feet and dived headlong for his yellow utility belt several feet away. He caught it as he rolled, scraping to a halt, going through it desperately.

_Staff, staff, staff_…

Not there. Of course; those damn mercenaries of Slade's had kicked it out of his grip.

_Birdarang!_

He grabbed two just as Slade was upon him, taking one in each hand, the grip in his broken right weak and painful. He used them like knives, the way Batman had taught him to use batarangs in the same way. He swung them upwards in a slashing "X" movement; Slade parried one on his metal arm guard, but Robin heard him grunt in pain as the other tore through his outfit and sank into his skin. Slade grasped his broken right and twisted it so that Robin shrieked in pain and promptly dropped the weapon. Slade knee-hauled him in the gut and the boy crumpled again, still holding on grim-death to his one remaining birdarang.

He couldn't lose, he just _couldn't_, not if this prophecy-thing was real; he simply couldn't afford to die. It sounded arrogant but by the looks of it the whole world depended on his survival. If he died, the Avenger, then there would be no-one to prevent the reckoning… not that he had any idea how he was going to prevent it anyway. But it was the _principal_.

He hauled himself to his feet, his determination not, as was usually typical of him, to win, but not to die. If he got out of here clinging to life by a fraying thread then he would class it as a victory in his favour. He twisted the birdarang over in his grip, wishing that his left hand had been broken instead of his stronger right hand. He swung it upwards in an arc… and was cut short in the blow as he heard metal scraping against metal and suddenly the birdarang couldn't move any further. He looked up and saw that Slade had the other birdarang of the pair and had parried Robin's arc against it. Now the two red metal bird-shaped throwing stars were locked against each other, their wings jammed in the awkwardest of angles. Robin put all of his remaining strength into a forced continuation of his arc, but Slade was pushing back against him, the tip of the wing of Robin's own birdarang being forced closer and closer towards his throat. Robin grounded himself, spreading his weight, gritting his teeth as his every muscle burned with the effort, felt sweat beading on his forehead as he tried to force it away and sink Slade's birdarang into his chest. His right hand was joining in the effort too in his desperate attempt not to die but was making little difference; Slade was stronger anyway, being an adult against a teenager, both of his hands were uninjured and he wasn't anywhere near as beaten and battered as Robin was. It was inevitable that he would win eventually but Robin refused to give in, vowing to hold out until he collapsed with the effort. But it was inching slowly closer to his jugular and he couldn't hold out much longer.

"This is where we part ways, Robin," Slade hissed. "Go to hell…"

And then there was a huge explosion of green light from behind them, shattering the far wall and sending the pair of them sprawling across the floor along with chunks of plaster and numerous criminal records. The two birdarangs clattered on the floor and were lost underneath a pile of broken plaster. Robin moaned as he landed on top of his right hand but thankfully was spared much more pain in his ribcage.

"Robin!"

Starfire's voice, frantic and high-pitched. Ah, yes; green explosion. Truly the work of the Tamaranean girl.

"Robbie, you ok!"

Cyborg.

But _how_ had they found him! He had specifically ensured that they had no way of tracking him; of course he had later regretted that, but still…

He dragged himself to his knees, coughing on the plaster dust. A green rat scurried over to him and promptly morphed into a very concerned Beast Boy.

"Jeez, Robin, way to scare the hell outta us!" The shape-shifter said breathlessly. "You ok, dude?"

Robin opened his mouth to reply and started to cough again.

"Been better," he said breathlessly after the coughing fit finally subsided. Beast Boy's pointed ears twitched slightly, but he didn't get a chance to reply as Starfire suddenly appeared beside him and shoved him out of the way. She threw her arms around Robin, her alien grip excruciating on his broken rib as she clung to him and started to sob into his shoulder. He tried not to scream but he couldn't help it; she was hurting him terribly and she didn't even realise it.

"Starfire, move. He's injured."

Raven's crisp, expressionless voice issued from behind them as she crouched down and roughly pulled Starfire loose from the Boy Wonder. Starfire fell back, still sobbing, and Cyborg put a hand on her shoulder. Raven knelt down next to Robin and took his shoulders, shaking him a little.

"Robin, where are you hurt?" She asked, her tone deadly serious and business-like. Robin grimaced, indicating his broken rib, then his hand. Actually, he hurt all over, but mostly it was nothing that wouldn't heal by itself. Raven nodded and placed one hand gently on his broken rib; he squeaked a little in agony as she put pressure on it and whispered her spell, taking the pain into her own body and then banishing it. He breathed out heavily, feeling relief flooding through him as she turned her attention to his hand and repeated the procedure.

"Thanks, Raven," he said softly as she removed her hand. She nodded silently, then brushed a strand of jet hair from his sweaty forehead.

"Robin, what the hell happened?" Cyborg asked hoarsely, offering Robin a hand to pull him to his feet. Robin accepted it and stood, Raven rising with him.

And they all saw his clothes.

"God, Robin… your clothes…" Beast Boy whispered. He looked up at the team leader. "Robbie… please, please don't say that you… you said you would do the whole apprentice-thing again… we can work it out, you don't have to do anything Slade says…"

Robin smiled faintly as he looked at them each in turn.

"No, it's ok," he said softly. "I'd die before I would become his apprentice again."

It suddenly dawned on him and whipped around, looking frantically for Slade. He cursed under his breath; he couldn't believe it. Slade was gone, and so was… he looked wildly at the desk. The prophecy, the translation and the Orb of Azarath were all gone too. How on earth could the entire team have let Slade pick up his stuff and just walk out; what the hell was wrong with them!

They were good friends; that was what was wrong with them. They had all been too busy fussing over Robin to notice the villain slip past them.

"Slade isn't here, Robin," Cyborg said, as though reading his friend's mind. "If he was here at all, he's gone."

"I noticed." For once, Robin didn't mind that Slade had escaped him. Well, not as much as he usually did. This bought him more time to work out this prophecy-Avenger-apocalypse thing.

"Oh, Robin, we have been so worried about you!" Starfire cried, rushing forwards and embracing him once again. "We could not track you and we thought you were hurt and we were so scared! Do not ever, _ever_ do this again!"

Robin said nothing, simply let her hold on to him. He couldn't make such promises, not now that he had an apocalypse to prevent. Of course, he'd tell them about the prophecy; they had a right to know, especially if his death meant that they would lose their powers. But _he_ was the Avenger; _he_ was the only one who could stop this thing.

"Robin, how could you do this to us?" Cyborg asked sadly. "You've done this before, but… don't you realise how much it frightens us when you do this? Knowing that we might turn up… too late?"

Robin couldn't answer him straightaway.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice small and soft. "I really am. I don't… I don't mean to scare you. I don't do it to deliberately frighten you. I just-"

"You just do it," Raven interrupted quietly. "You don't think through the consequences, or our feelings, or your own safety. You just do it anyway."

"But the letter-" Robin started to protest.

"Yeah, we know all about the letter, dude," Beast Boy interrupted him again. "The one from "Batman"."

Robin blinked.

"How do you know about that?"

Raven indicated to Starfire.

"Starfire found it in your trashcan," she said flatly.

"Next to it," Starfire corrected softly. "And I found your apologetic note and your communicator and other things that I was not able to identify."

"Oh." Robin bit his lip, realising that he pretty much owed Starfire his life; had she not found the stuff and the crumpled letter, the Titans would not have come bursting in and doubtlessly he, Robin, would be already dead…

"Look, I-"

"You're sorry," Cyborg finished for him. "Yeah, we know. But it didn't stop you."

Silence spread throughout the demolished room.

"Let's… let's go home," Robin said eventually, a little uneasily; truthfully, he was unsure if they would still regard him as an authoritive figure, especially considering he was proving to be a lousy leader.

"We can't yet," Cyborg informed him. "We have to wait for Batman to come and find us."

Robin froze.

"Batman? He's… what the heck is Batman doing here!"

"We almost ran him over on the way here," Beast Boy explained. "Cy was driving like a maniac to get here and Bats just leaped out in front of us at the corner of 27th street, chasing some small-time crook, and when he'd recovered from almost being knocked flat he wanted to know what we were doing and more to the point where _you_ were so we told him and he insisted on coming, especially as the crook had impersonated him."

"So where is he now?" Robin pressed.

"We found another crumpled note at the doorway of the asylum," Cyborg took over, "and we uncrumpled it and it was to you from "Batman" saying to meet him in the south wing recreational hall, so the real Batman headed off there while we came here to get you."

"And you knew I was here how?"

"I could sense your presence," Raven informed Robin quietly. "Starfire was getting a bit hysterical by that point and she just blasted the wall down."

"Batsy is _waaay_ mad at you, by the way," Beast Boy chipped in. Robin nodded curtly.

"I can imagine." And he could; unfortunately.

"Where are your actual clothes?" Cyborg asked. "Why are you wearing that thing?"

Robin shrugged offhandedly; he would never tell them for as long as he lived; which, ironically, wouldn't be very long if Slade had anything to do with it. But, somehow, if he kept it to himself, it didn't seem so real. Of course, it still hadn't properly sunk in yet, but when it did… well, perhaps Slade killing him would have been a mercy. And the homosexual thing… he wished there was some way of burning the memory from his mind, because it played over and over, torturing him… If only he could understand what had taken over him, and Slade too. Because there was something not right about that whole thing, and it made him feel uneasy as well as grossed-out and utterly disgusted with himself for going along with it.

"Robin; glad to see you in one piece."

Batman's cowled-and-caped figure appeared in the doorway of the wrecked room, the unconscious Joker slung over one broad shoulder. In his other hand he held two things and he tossed them both at his ex-sidekick's feet. One was Robin's staff; the other was a large scrap of red material with the "R" badge still intact. Robin looked down at them, his blood slowly freezing, then slowly moved his gaze up to Batman.

"Something you'd like to share with us?" Batman asked dangerously. Robin opened his mouth but his words died in his throat. His first thought was that Batman knew what had happened, but then he realised… that Batman seemed disgusted with him and so he assumed that Robin had… had actually…

It sunk in then, and it hurt. It was hard on the head, and hard on the heart. But there was no way of changing it. Slade had raped him, sexually violated him, and yet Batman – _Batman_ - thought that he had gone along with it. That was more painful than perhaps anything, that his… not father, but almost, would misconceive it so badly. But he couldn't explain it, because that would mean telling him the real story, and telling the Titans, and he didn't want to say anything because it made the pain all the more real.

"I asked you a question, Robin," Batman said sharply. Again Robin was unable to utter a sound and simply shook his head mutely.

"Robin. What the hell is going on?" Cyborg asked loudly.

"Nothing…" Robin squeaked; he felt like they were all closing in on him, even though the only one actually close to him was Starfire, and she was looking at him quizzically, her emerald eyes wide. He stepped backwards away from her, away from them all.

Batman's expression softened and he dropped the unconscious Joker to the floor.

"Robin? Are you… alright?" He asked. Robin put his head in his hands.

"No… I just… you don't understand…" he moaned.

"Then explain," Batman countered softly. Robin shook his head.

"I can't… because I don't… I don't understand…"

Batman paused for a second, then crossed the floor in a few easy strides, his scalloped cape flowing behind him. He put his arms around his ex-sidekick and pulled him to his chest,

"It's ok," he said softly. "Just tell me what happened."

His grip… it was so strong, yet gentle, should have been comforting, but it reminded him… He remembered, before Slade had even touched him, noticing how similarly built the villain and the Dark Knight were, and now he was being pressed to that chest… Batman's hand was touching his hair gently…

He hated it. He couldn't stand it. It frightened him. If he closed his eyes it was like Slade touching him again.

He slammed his hands into Batman's chest, shoving him away with all of his strength.

"Stop it!" He screamed at the Dark Knight. "You don't understand!"

He pushed past his ex-mentor, stepped over his staff and utility belt and headed for the door. He had to leave, had to get away…

He was roughly jerked backwards as Cyborg grabbed hold of his wrist.

"For god's sake, Robin!" The half-robot snapped. "Where the hell do you think you're going now! You owe us an explanation here!"

"Let go!" Robin shrieked hysterically at him, trying to tug his wrist out of his friend's strong grip. Cyborg clung on but seconds later Raven appeared at his side.

"Let him go, Cyborg," she said softly. "Do not keep him here; bad feelings tie him to this place."

"Don't side with him, Raven!" Cyborg yelled. "He's a lunatic! We can't just let him go storming about wherever he likes!"

"No, Raven is right," Batman reprimanded calmly. "Let him go, Cyborg."

Cyborg let go of Robin's wrist, disgusted. Robin took one last look at them all and fled down the corridor, and through the maze of corridors, his mind feeling like an asylum itself. He burst outside, found the gates already open and found his bike. He was just going through the motions; every fibre in his body cried for peace and darkness and loneliness so that he could come to grips with everything. He needed to go to his room and lie on his bed in the dark and just think.

He needed to understand.

"There are things that happened tonight that he will never share with anyone," Batman said softly, addressing the remaining Titans. "We may never know. But I can tell you now that in this short space of time he has changed. He is not the same Robin you knew before he came here tonight, you must understand that."

He picked up Robin's belt and staff, then the ripped piece of material stating "R" and handed them all to a tearful Starfire.

"I know that you are all angry with him," the Dark Knight went on, "and rightly so; _I_ am furious with him. He's selfish in things like this and that cannot continually be forgiven. But any friendship and understanding you can offer him at the moment, don't begrudge him it. He's going to need it. I'm sure that you don't need me to explain to you what happened here tonight, and don't try to force Robin to either. It isn't fair to expect him to talk about it. I have no idea how this will affect him long-term but you have to realise that it _will_ affect him somehow. I just hope that it isn't in a bad way."

The four Titans simply stared at him, understanding in these scant words what had happened. They all knew that Robin wouldn't appreciate pity, but they couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"Robin doesn't need superheroes," Batman stated quietly. "He doesn't need you to track down Slade and exact revenge on him. He needs friends."

"We'll be there for him," Beast Boy assured him.

Batman smiled faintly.

"I know you will. He doesn't realise how lucky he is to have friends like you. I wish I had had such friends when I was his age. Alas, I was a loner."

He turned away and recovered the Joker.

"Look after him for me, ok?"

He looked at them one last time, then left as Robin had, trailing the Joker after him; they could tell by his step that the violation on his "son" had cut him deep.

And they gazed after him, feeling terrible for Robin… and sorry for Batman too.

* * *

That's the last time Bats will be in it for _ages_… Actually, we're almost there now. Just three chapters or so to go before I can stick on Part 2, _Black Magic_, where all the fun/magic/prophecy stuff begins to happen…

Next chapter; Robin begins to spiral in temporary-craziness, and the Titans all bitch… I mean, _discuss_ him and what he has been through… Upcoming; temper tantrums, a fall-out between Robin and Starfire, and a whole box of designer clothes…

Yeah, I'm excited too…

_Small Print_ is updated, plus addition of Cy-fic _Flaws_, if anyone cares…

Ta-ta for now, darlings!


	13. Broken Wings

Some angst in this chapter, people! Well, _ish_. But hey; I'm not in angsty mood or anything! Today, 3rd December, is my birthday! Whoo-hoo! So I'm here giving you all a gift to share my happiness – a brand new chapter of _Asylum!_ So I shall expect many reviews wishing me at least happy birthday, if not actually saying that the chapter was good…

Kidding, kidding!

Dear me, where to start… You aren't actually allowed to reply to reviews in an author note anymore, but _meh_. It's something I've done right from the start, so I'm not about to stop now. My fan-base appears to be dissolving again, however; it would appear that my only original returning readers are Phoenix Skyborne, YamiTai and Quinn and his Quill. Where has everyone gone? Especially Yami no Kaiba – she appears to have disappeared off the face of the earth! Anyone know where she went?

As for the rest of you…

Quinn; yes, this storyline has a backbone that is NOT based just around sex! How I love prophecies…

Phoenix Skyborne; yeah, we all agree that Robin is, in BB's words, "totally flipped-out coo-coo labonza" – that's why we all love him, right? I'm ALMOST done with _Changes: Nine Months More_. Have you written any more? I really must put that thing on story alert…

YamiTai; glad you liked the notion of Batman being "knocked flat" by the T-car…

Rocky Wolf; your update, as promised. Keep up the good work on _The_ _Rocky/Slade Story_!

MereImage; who probably won't ever come back, but thankyou! I'm glad you liked it!

Seductive Angel; well, BB's just a funny guy, right? And I guess you are a Rob/Star supporter? You know, you people are pretty rare…

Alexnandru, Narroch06, anyone else who has reviewed in the past and happens to still be reading… I still love you all!

Let's just make with the bird metaphor title, huh?

Enjoy!

Broken Wings

The only sounds he could hear were the thunderous pounding of the shower and the rhythmic thudding of his own heart, forcing his blood on its journey around his body as though nothing had changed, as he sat curled up at the bottom of the huge glass shower cubicle, naked and his head buried in his knees. The water from the showerhead rained down on him and he simply let it run off his skin and drain around him; he had turned the pressure up so high it was like being repeatedly punched in the back, not giving the soothing massage as was usually typical of a power-shower. The hot water gave him some relief though, washing his body where he ached and bled, the thick steam offering him a sense of security. The glass was clear but now appeared frosted, almost opaque; it made it difficult to breathe, but it forced him to take slow, deep breaths. The bite at his neck ached and he touched it, feeling the bruise already forming beneath his skin. His ebony hair was sleek and glossy from the water, but flat and shapeless with it, instead plastered to his head and slathered in his eyes.

His blue eyes…

He reached up to them with one hand and touched them with wet fingers, feeling the eyelashes move protectively. He hadn't taken his mask off for… how long had it been? The last time had been for Raven, a month ago maybe?... After everything concerning the Joker and his gang in Gotham City, after he had betrayed her trust, cheated on her with poor innocent Starfire, who had then fallen victim to Raven's jealous wrath; after all that, he had needed to prove to her that she could still trust him, that he was hiding nothing from her.

So he had taken off his mask for her, showed her – and _only_ her – his eyes.

His incredible deep blue eyes.

Before that… not since he had left Gotham. A long time ago.

But it was off now, lying discarded in a heap on the bathroom floor, along with every last scrap of the apprentice outfit. It had been the first thing he had torn off and now it lay at the bottom of the pile. The last, and most important, part of the Robin identity, and he wasn't wearing it.

He wasn't Robin. As long as that mask lay fallen where he had thrown it in his broken rage, Batman's sidekick was dead. And he didn't care. Maybe he was taking the coward's way out, but he didn't want to be Robin anymore. A classic case of "Can't cope, won't cope". Robin was no longer a good person to be. Back when he was 8, 9, 10… it had been cool then; he had craved the night-time, the thrill of going down to the BatCave, putting on his bright costume with pride, adjusting the mask, checking the belt, swinging from rooftop to gothic rooftop at the side of Batman, stopping the bad guys. But back then… back then he had always had Dick Grayson to fall back on. A normal life may have been boring in comparison to that of his crime-fighting alter-ego, but at least he had _had_ that comparison. What did he have now? For a while, as a Titan, as _leader_ of the Titans… it had all clicked into place, gone to his head. He had liked it so much he had thrown everything else aside, sacrificed Dick Grayson to Robin, because… because Robin - a righteous crime-fighter - had seemed so much cooler than an orphaned acrobat almost-but-not-quite adopted by the richest bachelor in Gotham City.

Yeah. Maybe Robin was a little too cool. Maybe he couldn't handle being the Boy Wonder as well as he had thought he could. He'd done well in 8 years, stayed alive - if only barely in some cases–, shut down his fair share of villains and stated his fair share of terrible puns. Maybe this was a warning sign to pack it in while he was ahead. Sign Robin's death-sentence "Dick Grayson", pack the garish costume into a cardboard box, leave it in the attic to gather dust and haul it out again in 50-odd years time to show to the grandkids.

But… what did that leave him to be?

Besides, that wasn't the entirety of what bothered him. Some of it was anger, at Slade, at Batman, at himself, at that slug Zucco for having his parents popped off in the first place. His flesh crawled at the thought that Slade had touched him – in a variety of ways – and for this reason he now found himself curled up at the bottom of the shower, letting the water cleanse his skin. He was angry at Slade for that, not for beating him up, but for kissing him, for touching him in a sexual way, for raping him… And these same reasons fuelled anger at himself for _letting_ it happen. What the hell was _wrong_ with him! He had freaking _enjoyed_ it. It was sick and unnatural and terrible and wrong and he certainly hadn't been thinking straight. But he was still furious with himself. And the rape… maybe he couldn't have prevented that, but it hadn't even been _necessary_ and that hurt him all the more, the fact that he had walked into a needless trap.

And _Batman_… deep down he knew it wasn't Batman's fault; the bat-eared guy was innocent, oblivious… But Batman's touch, so much like Slade's; it had frightened him, ignited a hatred towards Batman within him that mirrored his feelings for Slade. He himself was more like Slade than Batman was, but the physical similarity had been painfully obvious then more than ever. And also because Batman had thrown him head-first into this superhero lark in the first place, just an 8 year old, a helluva lot smaller and skinnier than he was even now 8 years later. Scratch the fact that he had practically clung to Bruce's leg and been dragged around Wayne Manor like a ball and chain begging to be taken on as a sidekick of some variety – come to think of it, he was sure that _had_ happened – and it was pretty much Batman's fault. The Gotham City Social Welfare Organisation could have found him a foster home after the death of his parents without the equivalent of Bruce standing up in court and saying "Pick me! Pick me!", going home with a new "son" in tow and making him swear an oath to fight for good and justice that same night. But where would he be now, if not for Bruce, for Batman? An average kid going through high school, having insults hurled at him for his shortened title of "Dick"?

_No thanks_…

But if not Robin, and if not the "real" guy, Dick Grayson, then who was he? Because if, as Robin, he had to suffer the fact that he had been raped, beaten up, homosexually intrigued, blackmailed, kidnapped, trapped, almost murdered countless times, sent to alternate dimensions…

Well, maybe it was a whole lot easier to just… just _cram it_. He was up for a challenge; he liked challenges, being competitive and exuberantly-spirited, but if just _being_ Robin was going to turn into such an all-out war, then screw it. He was sick of it. The superhero universe was now one superhero short.

His feelings were starting to come back to him as he sat there, being pummelled by hot, steamy water, which, despite being a little painful, was slightly refreshing. He had made his way back to Titans Tower almost mindlessly, again in disdain of his helmet, only vaguely noticing that his change of costume now spared his arms where they would be bare if wearing his own clothes from being attacked by the uncompassionate wind-chill factor. He had been calm as he had parked his bike in the garage, come up through the front room to the elevator and headed for the bathroom, his only thought that he wanted a shower to get rid of the horrible feeling all over his body, to cleanse himself from the homosexual contact. He had been in a similar state to the night before, almost as though he was in a trance, as he had fetched himself a towel from the cupboard next to Starfire's room, gone into the bathroom and locked the door.

It had been when he looked at himself in the full-length mirror that he had flipped, firstly tearing off his mask, the last part of Robin, then turning on the rest of the costume, tearing it from his body as though it was burning him, hearing it clatter and crumple on the floor. Until, finally, he wore nothing, spared himself nothing, as he confronted his reflection, his nakedness destroying any walls or illusions that had been there before.

No clothes.

No identity.

No mask.

Nothing.

But even seeing his own eyes, his mother's eyes, after all this time… It didn't suddenly heal the wounds, as maybe he had expected it to. So he had started the shower, turned up the pressure and stepped in, treating it like his normal morning shower at first, stealing Starfire's shampoo and Beast Boy's shower gel as was normal, then had sank down here and remained that way, which was where he found himself now some 10 minutes later.

And found himself back as the orphaned acrobat, alone in the big bad world.

* * *

"Robin!"

Starfire burst into the front room from the garage, airborne and frantic. Behind her trailed Raven, her hood up and disguising her expression, and Beast Boy, stifling a yawn, his pointed ears drooping.

"Starfire, _please_, quit yelling…" the shape-shifter moaned. "It's 3:00am."

"But what if Robin did not come back!" Starfire cried, turning huge, frightened green eyes on Beast Boy. "What if he is still in Gotham somewhere! What if he is wandering around Jump City! We have his belt, we cannot track him and we have no idea where he went! What if he does not ever come back!"

"I gotta agree with the girl," Cyborg said grimly, joining them after locking up the garage. He turned his gaze on Raven. "Dunno why the heck you and Bats let him go running off by himself again, and in the state he was in. He's flippin' demented, that boy. He belongs in a straightjacket in a padded cell of Arkham Asylum."

Raven pulled down her hood.

"Cyborg, have a little more faith in me," she said flatly. "I entered his mind and I knew that he was going to come here. I would not have let him go if I knew he was going to throw himself off the pier or something." She snorted in disgust.

"And what about Batman!" Cyborg pressed. "He can't read minds, although lord knows how even _you_ can read Robin's jacked-up mind, Raven."

"Batman has known Robin far longer than any of us have," Raven answered quietly. "I'm sure he knows as well as we do that Robin can be… _unpredictable_, but surely he must have learned something of how Robin thinks from the best part of 8 years working with him. You must remember that, although at times Robin thinks like Slade, _Batma_n was the one who taught him to think the way he does overall. Always calculating, always planning, always working things out. Robin's mind is that of a detective and he cannot help thinking the way he does, and Batman thinks that way too. That is why Batman trusted him to come back here; because he would have done the same."

"And you're definitely sure he's here?" Cyborg probed. "You're _positive?_"

Raven nodded slowly.

"He's here. I can sense him, but even if I didn't have the power to do that…" She paused and pointed towards the ceiling. "If you listen hard, you can hear the shower running."

"Could be a burglar," Beast Boy muttered, stifling another yawn. Cyborg raised his eyebrows.

"Right, a dirty one, who decided to take a shower in, of all places, the city's superhero crib," he said mockingly, a vague grin on his face. "Oh, _boo hoo_, he might steal all the soap…"

Beast Boy finally gave way to a yawn and collapsed onto the couch. Cyborg followed his example; only Raven remained standing, while Starfire hovered several inches from the floor, the nails of her right hand pressed to her mouth and a worried expression on her pretty face.

"I think maybe I should go and see if he is alright," she said eventually.

"Starfire…"

The alien girl turned to Raven, who had addressed her, then trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Maybe you shouldn't bother him," Raven went on softly. "Not just yet."

Starfire appeared confused.

"Why? Why should he not wish to see me, or any of us? Surely he would be glad of our kindness and friendship, as he is so upset?"

Raven blinked. She knew Starfire was naïve, but it actually hadn't occurred to her that the Tamaranean would fail to understand what had happened to her Boy Wonder in Arkham Asylum. Obviously she was familiar with the concept, but Batman hadn't said it outright and therefore Starfire, having a limited understanding of English outside the formal tongue she used, didn't realise… She could explain it to her, but somehow felt that it certainly wasn't her place to, that it was extremely unfair to Robin, and also felt that she might have to go into unwanted depth to explain it to Starfire, who sometimes didn't pick things up very easily, and when Starfire _did_ understand she might go flying upstairs to give Robin extremely unwanted comfort. The empath got the feeling that Robin just wanted to be left alone, and she, Cyborg and Beast Boy could understand that and respected it. But Starfire was extremely open with her own feelings, a custom embraced by, presumably, all Tamaraneans, and therefore felt everyone should do the same. In time, perhaps Robin would talk to them about what had happened to him, but until then, Raven knew that Starfire's bright, happy persona would be extremely unwelcome in Robin's dark aura of anger, humiliation and self-pity. Because as much as Robin liked Starfire – and he liked her very, _very_ much indeed, Raven knew not without the tiniest pang of jealousy – the telekinetic also knew that he wouldn't appreciate her; a) clinging to him as she often did in a weird display of affection; b) asking him to "potato the couch" with her to watch some love movie that more often than not had him physically vomiting over the back of the couch, or; c) offering to make him some Pudding of Cheerfulness when typical teenage hormones kicked in and he was wandering around looking for something to break.

But how could she tell Starfire, the alien, to stay away from the person she liked most of all on Earth, and from whom she had never willingly spent more than half a day from his side?

"Starfire…" Raven sighed and twisted a strand of violet hair around a pale finger. "Look, just… I know you like Robin very much, but if you truly care about his feelings you'll leave him alone until he comes to you."

Starfire looked at Raven quizzically, her head on one side.

"I do not understand."

"I'm not asking you to understand, Starfire!" Raven snapped, her tiredness beginning to catch up with her. "Just… just leave him alone, ok? I know it sounds harsh but he probably doesn't want to see you, or _any_ of us, right now, so do all of us a favour and don't go near him."

"But Raven, I-"

Starfire was interrupted by a crash four floors above, barely audible but distinct and heavy.

"What is he _doing_ up there!" Beast Boy asked loudly from the couch. "Throwing things!"

"If I'm not mistaken; yes, I believe he is," Raven answered simply. Starfire flinched as another crash sounded, but Raven's expression remained deadpan.

"Right!" Cyborg snapped, getting up from the couch. "I'm getting real sick of his attitude lately. If that boy thinks he's throwin' things 'round _my_ tower, he's got another thing comin'!"

"What're you gonna do?" Beast Boy asked worriedly, seeing that the half-robot was angry.

"Restrain him, knock him out, I dunno," Cyborg answered. "But he's gone too far now!"

He started towards the double doors of the front room. Suddenly, Raven was in front of him.

"Cyborg, _please_," she pleaded. "Leave him. Just let him work off his anger and he'll soon stop. If you step in he'll get worse."

"We have a _gym_ to work off anger in!" Cyborg snapped. "He could be damaging equipment, Raven!"

"He's in his own room," Raven explained smoothly. "The only stuff he's damaging is his own."

Cyborg sighed, softening.

"That's not the point, Ray," he said. "He's still-"

"None of us can possibly understand what he is going through," Raven interrupted quietly. "And it's only just beginning. We have to allow him time to get over it. And believe me…" She looked at them each in turn, her amethyst eyes sad. "The best way to help him now is to let him help himself…"

* * *

Ugh, not the most gripping cliff-hanger ever, but hey… I don't really know what to say except that in the next chapter, Robin goes crazy. Temporarily. Guess being raped and then almost murdered, _then_ finding out you're destined to prevent the apocalypse – summoned by your arch-nemesis, who also happens to be the very guy who raped you – will do that to ya…

You know what? I think I'll just give y'all a sneak preview of the next chapter. I mean, we're almost to the end of the fic anyway, so…

"…Finally the wall was bare and the floor around him was littered with torn photographs and newspaper. He turned away from it, almost driven by something now, his blue eyes glittering with a look that was unnatural. He made for the mess at the foot of his wardrobe, picked up a batarang at his feet and smashed the mirror with a single blow, letting broken glass cascade to the floor as the one in Arkham Asylum had done. Still clutching the weapon he reached down and snatched up the first red "R" motif shirt that came into his grasp, then went to his desk. It was littered with broken weapons and bits of circuitry and notes and more newspaper cuttings and in the middle of it all sat the polished mahogany frame housing the newspaper clipping of Bruce and himself on that warm summer's day over 8 years ago; the day Bruce had officially been awarded custody of him. He paused, running his gaze briefly over the picture, from Vicki Vale's article; then he angrily and viciously swept everything off onto the floor, hearing the glass of the frame smash as it landed amidst the rest of the crap that had resided on his desk. He collapsed into his chair, twisted his grip on the shirt and tore the batarang aggressively into it, ripping the yellow fastenings down the front and carrying on, tearing it open. He cut into it again and again, making huge rips in the red fabric and then pulling at them with his hands, tearing the garment to shreds. He pulled the red and green and yellow apart from each other at the seams, as he himself felt what was happening to _him_. Finally he was left with the "R" badge and he stabbed the batarang into the heart of it several times before ripping right through it and hurling it aside…"

Really, when I said "he goes crazy", what I meant was "he trashes his room". And yells at Starfire. And cries some more. Argh… you'd have to read it, really.

So that's "Tears of Tamaran"; to be posted up when I get some reviews. Love ya all if you've even _read_ this far! Thankyou SOOOO much!

Whoo-hoo! It's my birthday! YAY!


	14. Tears of Tamaran

This chapter is especially for YamiTai, as it is, I understand, her birthday on 10th December! And so it is that you all wished me a happy birthday – I'm seventeen, BTW – I am now dedicating this chapter especially to YamiTai in honour of her "eighteenth day of birth", as Starfire would say. YamiTai, _this_ isn't the best present you will get – obviously – but it is the very best I can offer you, so I very much hope that you like it. Happy 18th birthday!

And to all others…

AutumnDynasty; you SO stole that muffin! I'm on to you! Gonna bust your ass, just you wait…

Quinn; you're a witch-hunter. And I have now unofficially adopted "the Boy-love Wonder" onto the end of my pen-name. Might change it officially; haven't decided…

Rocky Wolf; thankyou very much for laughing so at poor Robin's predicament, but _somehow_ I don't think this would ever get animated…

Alexnandru; yes, why indeed would a burglar shower at a superheroes' team's HQ? Makes you wonder…

_(Robin, flanked by the other Titans, pulls back shower curtain with a flourish to reveal-)_

_**Robin:** Mumbo, **why** are you in our shower?_

**_Mumbo:_** _Oh, **bugger**…_

Narroch06; glad you're still reading, since we do have, uh… _other_ matters to contend with…

Phoenix Skyborne; I left you a review for _Changes: Nine Months More_! It's REALLY great so far! UPDATE!

Kitty; seems you have a Batman addiction, then. Come join the rest of us and be merry!

Seductive Angel; love your name of "Borgie" for Cyborg! I love Cyborg, and I think(?) you do too? Yay! And of course you love Robin – we _all_ do…

Yes, send your letters to stupid-Cartoon-stupid-Network and give them a piece of your mind! Cancelling _Teen Titans_ indeed…

SAVE TEEN TITANS!

Tears of Tamaran

"Gotta… have _something_…"

Robin grasped hold of another box from the very back of his deep wardrobe and hauled it out, letting it crash heavily onto the floor. He frantically tore off the masking tape that kept it shut and pulled it open, desperately sifting through it. That freaking tuxedo he had worn to that horrible Kitty's prom. Or was it Kitten? Yeah, Kitten…

He angrily shoved it to one side where it joined several other cardboard packing boxes, most with their contents spewed all over the floor around the wardrobe. He sat in the middle of the mess dressed just in his boxer shorts, plain white – no robins; he was done with robins – and still without his mask. Around him lay the contents of those dusty boxes, stuff from his room at Wayne Manor that Bruce had had delivered to the tower a few days after the "Joker Incident". All stuff that was his, some of it dating back to even before he had met Bruce; before he had become Robin. Around him lay a mish-mash of different eras in his life; he had torn his countless Robin uniforms from their hangers where they were usually neatly arranged and now the grey metal floor was adorned with splashes of red, yellow and green, littered with spare birdarangs and explosive discs and grappling hooks. On top of these were circus costumes, far too small for him now but with a certain sentimental value, glittering lycra outfits of red, green, blue, some with the legends "The Flying Graysons" or "Haley's Circus" adorning them in showcard scripts, others boasting amazing intricate designs. There were a few faded circus posters advertising different acts, a few flyers for the circus when it was in town. There were a few batarangs, blunt and a little scratched up but in one piece. There was a truly terrible blue v-neck jumper Alfred had made him wear the day Bruce had been awarded official custody of him, again far too small for him now, and a gross t-shirt with a fluorescent vampire on it he had persuaded Bruce to buy him simply because he knew Alfred would despise it. There were old comic books, some of them dating 10 years ago, books he had vague memories of his mother reading to him in the sun outside their circus trailer, a handsome leather-bound omnibus of Sherlock Holmes stories given to him by Bruce. Now the tuxedo had joined the collection.

None of it was what he was looking for.

He found one last box, gripped it and dragged it out. He pushed his flat damp hair out of his eyes and tore open the box.

_Bingo_…

Normal clothes Bruce had sent up for him, all brand new and in his size. He had inquired why he would need them when his everyday wear consisted of green spandex and a cape; Bruce had merely grinned and replied that if he ever decided to go on a date, he might want something a little more practical, however well green spandex showed off his ass.

He delved into it, pulling things out one at a time and running his sceptic gaze over them. All designer, of course; only the best and most expensive when it came to Bruce and his credit card. Saks Fifth Avenue, Tommy Hilfiger, DKNY, Jasper Conran, Ralph Lauren, Ben Sherman…

He picked out a pair of black jeans almost as tight as his freaking spandex pants – Bruce for one didn't believe in breathing space – and a white t-shirt, again maybe tighter than he would have liked, that despite being plain probably cost $100+; he doubted that even ol' Tommy Hilfiger could burn a hole in Bruce's pocket. But he had to admit that Bruce, outside of his pointy-eared bat costume, _did_ have good taste in clothes, and knew what his "son" liked and what suited him.

He stood up and swung the wardrobe door wide open, enabling him to observe himself in the full-length mirror inside. He smiled a little at his reflection, seeing those deep azure eyes shining back at him; his mother's eyes. His hair looked a bit hopeless, flat and following the shape of his skull, messy from where he had rubbed it vigorously with a towel. Wearing it gelled as he usually did, he hadn't realised it was so long, but it was obvious now as he found himself constantly blowing it out of his eyes. And if he ignored the mark on his throat – already becoming purple - he looked ok. Well, he looked better than ok; he could see he looked good, thanks to Bruce and his spending spree, thanks to his mom passing on her incredible eye colour. The clothes fitted him like they had been tailored especially for him, tight enough to show off his slim build but not so that they enhanced the fact that he was, ok, on the small and kinda scrawny side despite all the hard work he put his body through. He looked… taller, older… more mature. He looked far more perfect in simple, striking black and white; he suddenly looked as though he had nothing to hide, or nothing to hide from.

And most importantly, he no longer looked like Robin.

He turned away from the mirror and crouched down, seizing an empty box and uncovering the apprentice costume from the very bottom of the aftermath of his rage. He crammed it in aggressively, not bothering to fold it neatly. He had thrown the other one away, but he didn't want to get rid of this one quite yet; he didn't know why. Maybe it could be of some use to him. He hunted for his mask when he was done but couldn't find it. He clicked his tongue in annoyance; he had no intention of putting it back on but it was irritating to discover it had gone walkabout. He turned his attention back to the box and lifted it back into the closet, grunting as he shoved it right to the back where he could forget about it. He rose and stepped over the rest of the mess, feeling the cold metal of the floor against the soles of his bare feet as he crossed his dark room to the window. He pulled the curtains back from where he had drawn them temporarily and looked out over the illuminated cityscapes that stretched as far as the eye could see; Jump and Gotham and even a vague glimmer of the huge Metropolis was visible. Beyond that was Blüdhaven, but it was over the black horizon, invisible, and after that again… Central City? And each a little world unto its own.

Slade was out there somewhere, planning his little end-of-the-world prophecy, and it was up to _him_ to-

_Screw it_.

He had no interest in being the "Avenger". Once upon a time he'd have been up for saving the world, but that once upon a time was over; it had ended not even 2 hours ago, the moment Slade had come into contact with him, changed him, destroyed him, thrown him into such dark depths that even now he was still struggling to get a foothold to scrabble back out of. And he was kind of preoccupied with getting over the whole thing at the moment; he didn't have time to worry about the fate of the world.

So it was selfish. But he didn't care. He was just about ready to pack the whole superhero thing in, he was that sick of it. He didn't remember signing anything to promise it was a permanent agreement; nor did he remember signing anything that stated that he might be required to prevent the apocalypse from destroying the world.

He felt something brushing lightly against his bare arm as he leaned on the window sill and looked to his left. His black mood returned as his blue eyes fell on Poison Ivy's "present". A tiny flower, chocolate-brown, with splashes of red and yellow, fashioned exactly like a tiny robin; a creation of Poison Ivy's green fingers. It was bound to him, however, by a spell of some kind; if it died, he too would die, so he had to keep remembering to water it – it really _was_ very annoying… As much as he had hated/loved/struggled to resist the urge to think with his typically male appendage instead of his brain concerning Ivy, he had been, at first, pleased with her seemingly innocent gift of a personalised flower especially for him; until he had discovered it had the power to kill him, he had been elated by the fact that there were no bat-shaped blooms to accompany their bird-inspired counterparts. Typical male pack-animal behaviour, he was ashamed to admit. And he had been stupid – and drunk on her love spell - to believe that she had actually liked him – if it was male and moved, Ivy had kissed, felt up and, more often than not, killed it.

_I kissed someone too; I kissed another guy. But not just any other guy. Not Cy. Not B.B._

_I kissed **Slade**._

Usually the flower didn't bother him too much; it was a pain in the ass if he forgot to water it, but otherwise it gave a little colour to his drab room. But looking at it now… _it was a freaking robin_.

He reached out and grasped it by the stem, letting his long fingers close around the silky petals. His dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he gritted his teeth as he crushed it in his grip, killing it…

He promptly released it with a sharp cry of pain as Ivy's magic retaliated and he received a staggering non-physically inflicted stab to his stomach. It died as he loosened his grip on the plant, but a dull ache remained as the crushed petals struggled to uncrumple. He cursed under his breath as he helped it, smoothing out its petals and breathing heavily to combat the pain he had received from it. He could practically hear Ivy laughing at him as he hurriedly tried to make it better…

He lost his temper completely and sent the flower in its ceramic pot from the windowsill to the floor with a powerful sweep of his arm. The pain in his gut got a little stronger as the pot smashed on his metal floor and both earth and flower spilled among the pieces of broken ceramic. He stepped past it, drawn to his plastered far wall, newspaper cuttings serving as wallpaper. They all chronicled highly-elaborated adventures – and the odd misadventure – of the Teen Titans, with action shots of the team, quotes from "Gotham's Favourite Teen Superhero, Batman's sidekick and Titans' Leader Boy Wonder Robin", as his title had expanded to on several occasions, stating that he hoped that was the last the city would hear of the Amazing Mumbo or Control Freak, or mini-interviews with "Shape-shifting Extraordinaire Beast Boy", "Other-worldly Alien Beauty Starfire", "Cybernetic Powerhouse Cyborg" or "Mind-controlling Queen of Gloom Raven" as the press buttered them up, twisted what they said and pretty much kissed their spandex-clad asses to ensure their beloved Titans would never go back on their vow to protect the city through thick and thin.

_Well, tough; looks like you just lost "Gotham's Favourite Teen Superhero, Batman's sidekick and Titans' Leader Boy Wonder Robin"…_

He grasped hold of a double-page spread inquiring "WHO IS SLADE?" and tore it off the wall, crumpled it up and tossed it over his shoulder to join the mess already adorning his floor. It didn't soothe his anger as he pulled off more, tearing them up and scattering the remains at his bare feet, but he couldn't stop, ripping the pictures in half, then into quarters and eighths and sixteenths, letting the pieces fall, then pulling off some more and repeating the procedure.

_If only beating the real criminals was this easy_…

This thought played in his mind as he ripped up a picture of Mumbo being hustled into a police car, cursing at his teen infiltrators Scooby Doo-style, then shredded another of Mad Mod, of Plasmus, of Doctor Light, countless artists' impressions of Slade, that one grey staring patronisingly at him, almost laughing at him…

He was only dimly aware that he was uttering battle cries as he tore them up, stripping his wall down to bare metal, his temper sparing nothing, not even the photographs among the newspaper cuttings of himself and his friends doing regular teenager stuff; only the photographs of his parents remained in one piece, but were still thrown to the floor in his insatiable rage. He shredded ones of himself and Bruce, newspaper cuttings about Batman, grasped the Slade mask hooked on his wall and threw it across the room as hard as he could, his breath being torn from his lungs in angry gasps as he turned on the photo quite high up of himself and Starfire, the alien girl's pretty face alight with happiness, her arms around his shoulders as she plonked herself in his green lap for the camera. He was blushing slightly but smiling all the same, although his mask disguised the expression of his eyes… He ripped it off the wall and tore it down the middle, separating his alter-ego from the alien and allowing it to flutter to the floor, ripping off more newspaper cuttings before it had even landed.

Finally the wall was bare and the floor around him was littered with torn photographs and newspaper. He turned away from it, almost driven by something now, his blue eyes glittering with a look that was unnatural. He made for the mess at the foot of his wardrobe, picked up a batarang at his feet and smashed the mirror with a single blow, letting broken glass cascade to the floor as the one in Arkham Asylum had done. Still clutching the weapon he reached down and snatched up the first red "R" motif shirt that came into his grasp, then went to his desk. It was littered with broken weapons and bits of circuitry and notes and more newspaper cuttings and in the middle of it all sat the polished mahogany frame housing the newspaper clipping of Bruce and himself on that warm summer's day over 8 years ago; the day Bruce had officially been awarded custody of him. He paused, running his gaze briefly over the picture, from Vicki Vale's article; then he angrily and viciously swept everything off onto the floor, hearing the glass of the frame smash as it landed amidst the rest of the crap that had resided on his desk. He collapsed into his chair, twisted his grip on the shirt and tore the batarang aggressively into it, ripping the yellow fastenings down the front and carrying on, tearing it open. He cut into it again and again, making huge rips in the red fabric and then pulling at them with his hands, tearing the garment to shreds. He pulled the red and green and yellow apart from each other at the seams, as he himself felt what was happening to _him_. Finally he was left with the "R" badge and he stabbed the batarang into the heart of it several times before ripping right through it and hurling it aside. He stood abruptly, kicked his chair over, then gripped the edges of his metal desk and put all of his strength into overturning it. His energy was still diminished and he collapsed to his knees trying to lift the heavy desk, but eventually he tipped it off-balance and it crashed to the floor, sounding a thundering of metal colliding with metal. He stood and made for his bed, picking up from his floor a spare birdarang as he walked purposefully over to it. He passed it at first, going instead to the curtains and tearing them into strips with the wing of his weapon, then whipping around and pulling the sheets from his bed, tossing them to the floor to join the rest of his belongings. He stood on top of his bare mattress and from there could reach his crowded bookshelves; he shoved all of the books off onto the floor, hearing the repeated thudding as they cascaded to the floor. He caught the last one as it fell; _Theoretical Criminology: Putting it into Practice_.

_Screw Theoretical Criminology. Fat lot of good it's done for me…_

He opened it somewhere near the middle and stabbed it with his birdarang, then wrenched it out again and threw the book aside. He gripped the birdarang by its wings and expended his strength once again as he tried to break it in two. He gasped as he felt a sharp pain in his right palm and dropped the birdarang, looking at his hand and seeing a deep, long, curved cut right through his longest lifeline. Blood seeped from it and it stung like hell.

He might be trying to destroy "Robin", but his alter-ego was putting up one hell of a fight; first the robin-inspired flower, and now the birdarang. As if; "You can't shove me in the closet and forget about me that easy, Dickie".

As he watched his palm get more and more crimson, feeling his heart thudding in his chest, he heard the voices of his friends getting closer and closer as they ascended the stairs and came down the corridor. He leaped lightly off his bed and went to his closed metal panel, leaning against it to try and catch what they were saying.

"Don't worry about him, Star, he'll be alright…"

Cyborg.

"He just needs some time, Starfire. Cyborg is right; he'll be ok, but until then, we have to leave him to his own devices."

Raven.

"Even if his own devices consist of throwing things around and making a terrible crashing noise audible even four floors below?"

Starfire. He frowned; she sounded… not _worried_. Upset. Frightened.

"Even then, Starfire."

Raven again.

"Well, night, guys…"

Beast Boy. The other Titans responded to the gesture and he heard them go their separate ways, heard the click of their panels as they retreated to their own separate worlds. He heaved a heavy sigh.

_What to smash up now_…

He knew he was going to regret destroying his room later, but in his present temper he felt like breaking someone's neck, never mind a mirror. He stepped away from the panel… and froze as he heard a distinct knocking on it.

"Robin?"

_Damn you, Starfire…_

He paused, then decided to ignore her and wandered off to the furthest corner of his room. He expected her to go away when he didn't answer, but she didn't. The panel slid back and the alien girl peeped around it into the dark room beyond.

"Robin?" She whispered timidly. "Where are you?"

He stood in his dark corner, watching her as she edged right into his room.

"Am I… permitted to enter?" She asked softly. She clicked the panel shut behind her. "Raven said to leave you alone but I thought that…" She trailed off. "Where are you?" She asked again, her voice small and scared.

He hesitated.

"I'm here."

"Where is here?"

He failed to answer her again.

"Robin… I… I found this in the hall… it is yours…"

And she held up his mask.

"And these… are also yours."

She dropped his staff and utility belt to the floor, then raised her palm and illuminated the room with her natural green light.

"Thanks, Star."

Even the naïve Tamaranean could tell by his tone that he wanted her to go away, but she couldn't bring herself to, not when she knew he wasn't in a… _normal_ state.

"Robin. Are you… are you alright?" She looked around for him, still failing to see him. "Please come here and talk to me. I am worried about you."

He stepped into the dull glow and she gasped.

"X'hal… Robin… Robin, that cannot be you…" she said weakly as he approached her. "Robin, you look so…"

"So not like Robin?" He asked, stopping a couple of feet away from her.

"Your eyes…" She breathed. He scowled.

"Don't start mooning over them like Raven, _please_," he snapped, sounding disgusted. Starfire blinked.

"Raven has… already seen them?" She sounded confused. "But Robin, you never take your mask off; I have heard you say so."

"Surprise," he retaliated flatly. She came closer to him, looking down at him being taller anyway and him now bare-footed, and gazed deeply at his eyes.

"They are blue," she stated finally. "Oh, they are so pretty. They are truly as wondrous to look upon as my beautiful home planet of Tamaran."

She cocked her head, taking him in completely.

"You look so different," she murmured. "Your hair is flat and your clothes…" She studied him hard. "Why are you not dressed normally?"

"Wake up, Starfire," he snapped. "I _am_ dressed "normally"."

"No you are not," Starfire argued. "Normal is your cape and your mask and-"

"The tight green spandex pants and the shirt with an "R" on it in case I forget my own name," he finished bitterly. "Yeah, right. "Normal"."

"But why?" Starfire asked. "Why are you dressed like this, Robin? Surely you should be in bed? And what…" She trailed off, her gaze on his neck. "Robin, you are hurt." She reached for him and he recoiled immediately, one hand covering the bitemark that Slade had left upon him.

"It's nothing," he said quickly. "Just a bruise."

"It looks painful."

"It was… I mean _is_."

Starfire frowned and reached out her hand again. Suddenly angry, he grasped her wrist, but now she could see the mark.

"Robin, I do not-"

"It's just a _bruise_." Robin shoved her hand back at her aggressively. "Why can't you mind your own business!"

"Because I care very much for you," Starfire replied softly. "Robin, I… _what did you do to your room!_"

She finished her statement in a very high tone, suddenly seeing the state of his trashed bedroom, as she expanded her starbolt, giving out more light. She looked back at him sharply and he returned her gaze, his deep sapphire eyes icy and unblinking.

"Robin, what has happened to you?" Starfire asked quietly. "You are acting so… oddly, I do not understand…"

"There's nothing to understand." He wandered away towards the window again, his rage still seething and boiling inside him. Usually he was only too happy to sit and talk to Starfire for hours, teaching her American slang and telling her about baseball and different types of soda and his adventures with Batman. But right now… right now he felt like punching her right in her pretty face.

"Robin, please talk to me. Maybe you would feel better if you talked."

"I don't want to talk, Starfire."

He leaned on the windowsill and rested his head in his hands, feeling blood smear on his chin from his bleeding right palm. He heard Starfire shifting behind him as her feet rustled through torn newspaper. She gasped softly as she picked something up and he knew without even turning around that it was the photograph of the pair of them that was now in two separate pieces.

"Robin, what is the meaning of this?" She asked, sounding as though she was about to burst into tears. "Do you not… like me anymore?"

"Yes. No… I mean…" He turned to face her, irritated. She was standing holding the photograph together, her expression mournful. "It doesn't mean anything. I just ripped it up. I was angry."

"Were you… angry at me? You have torn us apart like you wanted to be separate..."

"It doesn't mean anything, Starfire!" He snapped, turning back to the window. He could see a vague reflection of himself in the window, see his blue eyes glittering and his sleek black hair shining in Starfire's green light.

"Will you be dressed like that tomorrow?"

In the window he could see Starfire directly behind him, his mask and the ripped photo in her hands.

"Maybe."

"You cannot fight crime dressed like that," the Tamaranean protested. "No-one will know who you are."

"I don't want to fight crime."

"Why?" Starfire asked softly. "Do you… not wish to be a Titan any longer?"

He shrugged offhandedly.

"I couldn't give a toss."

Starfire cocked her head, not understanding the phrase.

"A… _toss?_"

Normally he would have… _explained_ it to her, but now he couldn't be bothered to even look at her.

"Forget it, Star."

She opened her mouth to protest, and to demand that he explain what he meant, but trailed off when she saw the smashed plant pot surrounded by spilled earth and in the middle of it all…

"Robin, your flower!" She cried, bending down and scooping the tiny plant off the floor, cradling it in her hands. "What happened? Did it fall off?"

"Yeah, something like that…"

He didn't look at her and she straightened up, still clutching the bird-shaped flower.

"Robin, you must be more careful with it," she scolded. "It is important you look after it or you will-"

"Drop dead," he finished moodily, his words aimed more at her – and that green bitch Ivy – than referring to his own fate. Starfire bit her lip, realising what an absolutely filthy temper he was in but refusing to give up.

"I will look after it for you if you wish," she offered, knowing he wasn't really one for gardening unless it involved torturing Beast Boy. He shrugged his shoulders again and she saw the muscles in his back move beneath his tight white t-shirt. He wasn't acting normally; that much she knew. He seemed so different, and it had nothing to do with his dramatic change in appearance.

"Robin, if you do not want to talk, maybe you should get some sleep," she suggested. He shrugged once again.

"Not tired."

"I know, but…" Starfire trailed off, knowing she wouldn't win him over. He was obstinate at the best of times, but in _this_ mood…

"Would you like me to help you to tidy your room?" She offered. He shook his head.

"No thanks. I like it like this."

"I do not believe that. You are a very organised person. You cannot possibly-"

"Well, believe it, Starfire, ok?"

She shrank back at his sharp tone. Raven had been right; maybe she should have left him alone until he was in a more civil mood. She certainly wasn't doing as well with him as she had anticipated. She sighed and hung her head, looking down at the photograph that she still held together. She saw the mask still clutched in her fingers and reached out, tapping him timidly on the shoulder.

"What!" He snapped, turning on her, his azure eyes narrowed dangerously. Suddenly… they did not seem so much beautiful as frightening. She held out his mask.

"Please put it back on," she pleaded quietly. "You do not look normal without it. You do not look like Robin."

"I'm not freaking Robin."

Starfire blinked.

"What? Of course you are! That is your name, that is who you are, like I am Starfire. You cannot be anyone else."

"I can be whoever I like."

She knew he was referring to Red X and she grasped hold of his wrist, bare without his green gloves.

"No, Robin! You must be Robin. That is who we need, not the Red X; not even the older you who is Nightwing!"

She let go of his wrist, which was smarting painfully from her strong grip, and put his mask back on over his eyes before he could stop her. She withdrew her hands and he blinked several times, debating whether or not to rip it off again. He decided against it and adjusted it so that it sat perfectly on his face, once again hiding his eyes; his mother's eyes.

Starfire smiled.

"Your eyes are pretty, but you look so much more normal now," she said happily. "Now if you would just change your clothes and-"

"And why don't you _butt out_, Starfire!" Robin snapped, turning his back on her again. Again, the Tamaranean girl didn't understand the American slang that he had used.

"Robin, I do not understand what you are saying," she said.

"Shove it, Star."

Starfire looked down at her hands, seeing only the ripped photograph.

"What is it that I am supposed to be shoving, Robin?" She asked, confused. "Please, I do not understand. You must explain what you mean."

"Cram it."

"Cram _what!_" She was starting to cry, tired as she was and upset by his behaviour and now bewildered at the words he used in a context with which she was unfamiliar.

"Please, Robin, why must you be so difficult!" She sobbed. "I do not understand what it is that you wish me to shove or cram or… or _butt out!_"

"Go tell someone who cares."

Starfire sniffed pitifully.

"You… _you_ care, do you not, Robin?"

"No, I don't!" He snapped, turning on her. "Maybe I would have once, a long time ago. But I have other stuff to worry about now, Starfire, stuff that's more important than the fact that you're too stupid to understand what the hell I'm talking about!"

"_Stupid?_" Starfire repeated weakly, apparently shocked that he had referred to _her _as such. He usually went out of his way to assure her that not understanding something didn't make her stupid, and _now_ he was telling her right to her face that she was an idiot.

There was something not right there.

He turned away from her again and she reached out, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. She felt the muscles flex underneath the fabric of his tight shirt and knew he wanted her to remove her fingers but she refused to, her touch more comforting to her than to him.

"Robin, _please_," she pleaded quietly. "Please calm down and talk to me. You will feel better. Surely you can trust me?"

"Don't wanna talk about it."

"You do not wish to talk about _what?_" Starfire pressed softly. Tears leaked from her eyes again. "Robin, on my planet, my people do not ever hide their true feelings. We always say what we think and how we feel. Maybe you should try to be more like the people of Tamaran."

"And maybe you should _shut up!_" Robin yelled at her, whipping around and grabbing hold of her forearm. He couldn't hurt her, not through her metal arm-guard, but she simply stared at him, speechless.

"What?" She whispered eventually.

"You heard what I said, Starfire." He seemed disgusted as well as angry. "Maybe you don't want to believe you heard it, but I did say it. _I_ told _you_ to SHUT UP!"

"Robin, please, you are-" Starfire started, starting to cry again.

"SHUT UP, STARFIRE!" He screamed at her, shoving her backwards and releasing her arm. "I don't want to listen to you, I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you! Just shut up and leave me alone!"

He stormed away from her over to the mess of shredded newspaper and photographs. Starfire sniffed and wiped her green eyes, still clutching the flower and the ripped photograph in one hand. Then she floated over to him; he was leaning against his now-bare wall, his eyes closed and his forehead on the cold metal. His hands were pressed flat against it, a smear of blood forming under his right palm, and his chest heaved with every breath he drew.

She landed next to him, now rather afraid of him, but still determined to help him.

"Robin, what did Slade do to you?" She inquired, her voice barely audible.

_I kissed Slade. I touched him; I let him touch me. There's a bitemark on my neck; there is a **lovebite** on my neck._

His eyes snapped open behind his mask and she saw him clench his fists against the metal wall. He turned to face her, leaning back against the wall as though for support.

"You wanna know, huh?"

_I kissed him. I pretty much made out with him. He touched me… well, **there**, and I enjoyed it. And then, when we were both ok again, he raped me._

Starfire nodded, thinking that she was finally making a breakthrough with him.

He laughed hollowly and she saw his abdominal muscles brush ever so slightly against his shirt. It was such a strange shirt; pure white, yet he was far from pure, and so tight it seemed to hide nothing of his body, yet it covered his torso completely.

He stopped laughing and glared at her, his blue eyes piercing her even through his mask.

"You have no idea, Starfire."

_He kissed me, he touched me, he bit me – left a mark to show that I am, or was, his – and then he raped me. He hurt me, he humiliated me, and then he tried to kill me._

_I have a bitemark on my neck to prove it._

_And all because a piece of paper told him to._

He closed his eyes and she used the fact that he was oblivious to her advantage, coming right up to him.

"Perhaps if you would explain it to me, then I would have-"

His eyes opened again and he leaned right into her, furious.

"_Get out_," he whispered lethally, his face a few inches from hers. She blinked at him, as though failing to comprehend what he meant.

He snapped when she didn't obey him.

"GET OUT!" He screamed. "GET OUT AND LEAVE ME ALONE!"

She stepped backwards from him, terrified, her expression mirroring that of the dream-Starfire as she had realised that dream-Robin was about to kill her. Then she took to the air, still holding the flower and the photo, and soared out as he had commanded, slamming the panel behind her.

He sank down against the wall, his breathing heavy, and put his head in his hands, feeling his silky gel-free hair on his bare fingers. He immediately regretted yelling at Starfire – she had only been trying to help him, after all – but his anger was still seething and Starfire could really be very irritating at the best of times. He knew he would have to apologise to her but right now he was so wrecked he had lost the energy to even stand up. He was still battered from his fight with Slade, tired, upset, confused, humiliated and angry. He was sick of being a superhero, trying to save a city from evildoers when in actual fact he often couldn't even save himself. He knew he couldn't throw in the towel completely, not really, not if this prophecy-thing was real; he doubted that the "Avenger" was allowed to retire early. But how he wished he could; just screw the whole thing and just… just be freaking _normal_ for once in his whole goddamn life… He didn't want to be a circus-boy, he didn't want to be a superhero… But it was too late to be Dick Grayson now.

Robin was all he had left.

Batman's child.

Slade's nemesis.

The Avenger.

The Boy Wonder.

The Teen Titans' leader.

Violated, broken, and with a tender, purple mark on his throat.

He had been dry-eyed all this time, but now he simply buried his head in his knees in the middle of his trashed bedroom and let the tears fall…

* * *

Starfire leaned against her closed bedroom door, trying to stop the tears from leaking from her emerald eyes. Around her, her bedroom was dimly lit and she floated over to her circular bed, sinking onto it still fully-clothed. There was a small vase of flowers on her bedside table and she took the daisies she had picked from the water, replacing them with the single robin-shaped bloom. She knew she would have to replant it tomorrow or it would become water-logged, but she thought that it would be ok to leave it there overnight. There couldn't be long to go until dawn anyway.

She rolled over and raised the ripped photo above her head, putting it back together, holding herself and the Earth-boy that she loved together too. He looked so happy in it, almost as careless as the much younger version in the photo of himself and his guardian from 8 years ago on his desk. She could see the similarities between the two pictures in her mind's eye; the dark, sleek hair, the slightly abashed but very genuine smile, the shape of the face, rounded, sort of chubby, but in no way fat, so that he looked very cute when he smiled, and also cute when he sulked.

He did not look cute when he was angry.

The way she had just seen him then… he had frightened her, he had looked nothing like either of the pictures in which he was smiling. She loved him but she knew he had the potential to be dangerous if he was really pushed; she could only hope that he would never be pushed that far. The smiling, blushing Boy Wonder in the ripped photo was worlds apart from the enraged, moody specimen who had just yelled at her to get out of his room. She knew as well as anyone that he was not all that he seemed.

He was far more.

And that strange mark at his neck. What was it? Why had he shied from her when she had reached to touch it? It looked like a bruise, but an odd one.

As though he had been bitten.

She sighed sadly and let the photo fall apart over the side of her bed, then lay back and closed her eyes, feeling more tears come. She couldn't help it; she couldn't hide them. It was the way she had been taught. The way of the Tamaraneans.

She had told him that the people of Tamaran never hid their thoughts, their feelings.

_And we do not hide our tears either…_

* * *

Ah, sad ending for the last-but-one chapter, no? I always was a fan of that somewhat-sad ending which finished _Masks_ in Season One. Where Starfire walked out on Robin after he had abused their trust, just leaving him there subdued against his wall with that cursed Slade mask in his hand?… That is truly beautiful and inspiring storytelling on behalf of the writing team on _TT_; I think that one was written by Tom Pugsley and Greg Klein. My opinion on writers? I think Amy Wolfram (_Sisters_, _Date with Destiny_ and many others), Rob Hoagee (_The End Pt II_, _Apprentice Pt I_ and others) and Adam Beechen (_Haunted_ – my favourite of them all) write the best ones.

But I digress. I pay far too much attention to the writers and animators and directors and stuff on that show. Like Bruce Timm (producer) and Andrea Romano (voice casting) have both worked on WB DC-related shows since _Batman:TAS_. So that's the aforementioned, _Superman:TAS_, _Batman Beyond_, _Justice League_, _Justice League Unlimited_, _Teen Titans_ and _The Batman_.

And again I digress.

Blah.

Last chapter next! Well, of _this_ part. Next part is _Black Magic_, which is where the _real_ prophetic/magical/Avenging action begins to kick off! I should hope that if you've read this far you will show some interest in _Black Magic_. The other Titans are in it a lot more, with focuses on Raven becoming more apparent (it is the Orb of _Azarath_, after all) and Terra is in it too. I promise many surprises, also, plus some "naughty" action, if that floats your boat (it's of the _hetero_ variety. Anyone wanting to read some serious Robin/Slade stuff should look at _Small Print_, co-written by Narroch06 and me). And there's magic, jazz clubs and hot fudge sundaes involved too! And, uh, wet dreams, Slade sulking some more, that damn seer all over again, plus lyrics by Green Day, Fleetwood Mac and Dire Straits, and just… Well, we've got a whole chapter to go _here_ first, so I guess I'm plugging too soon.

Catch y'all on the flipside when I get some reviews! Toodles!

KEEP WITH THE LETTER-WRITING CAMPAIGN! WE **CAN** SAVE OUR BELOVED SHOW! SHOWS LIKE _KIM POSSIBLE_ AND _FAMILY GUY_ HAVE BEEN BROUGHT BACK FROM OFFICIAL CANCELLATION! KEEP IT UP!

In Robin's words from _The End Pt III_; "There is _always_ hope".

I suppose it's better than "Kardiac, you're under arrest"…


	15. Equilibrium

LAST CHAAAAAPPTTTEEERRRR!

So I hope you all enjoy! Terra comes into it now, and… _why_ does everyone hate her? Is it just me? I seem to like some very unpopular characters. I mean I love Robin, Raven, Slade, etc., who are all IMMENSELY popular; I also love Terra, Starfire and Cyborg. Why are they so _un_popular? I think a lot of people hate Star because Robin likes her and she likes him, but, you know… there's no point in being jealous of her! Robin's only a cartoon character! A _hot_ cartoon character, yes, but a 2D red, yellow and green drawing nonetheless. I mean, yeah; one of my friends "married" her Orlando Bloom poster, but we all laughed at her…

Anyway, I digress. What I wanted to do was give some acknowledgements here, seeing as we are on the very last chapter of _Asylum_. To those who have painstakingly ploughed all the way through this and have left evidence to show that they have done so:

Phoenix Skyborne; YamiTai; my "partner-in-crime" Narroch06; Quinn and His Quill; Rocky Wolf; Daybreak25; Seductive Angel; and Alexnandru Van Gordon. YamiTai and Quinn in particular left a review for EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN CHAPTER; and the rest of you acknowledged too have made me feel very loved indeed! Thankyou very much to all of you! Don't know what happened to Yami no Kaiba – she seemed really interested and gave me all kinds of crazy reviews, but she's just vanished without a trace…

And to all others who have EVER reviewed; DarkMarkLv; NightRobin; Yersi Fanel (if you're the same Yersi Fanel who made the Placebo Robin/Slade _Every You, Every Me_ music video I absolutely LOVE it! I have it on my laptop…); KamiElf (if you're still here); AutumnDynasty; Kitty; Dookie; Sketch a.k.a Jessica Carlton; Sarah Shima; Le Squirrel; MereImage… Ooh, gosh, anyone I forgot, I am SOOO sorry! Thankyou all for reading even just a little of it!

THANKYOU!

I love you all!

Equilibrium

All essence of time seemed to have melted as he sat there, his gloved hands gripping the arms of the chair, staring at the floor as rays of darkness – as if that was at all possible – fell across him, shadowed him, obscured him. Above him stretched fields of stained glass, dark now in the early morning hours. It had been a church once, he suspected. In the middle of a volcano? Well, stuff was weird around here; he had come to accept that. No less and no more for the existence of the one called "Batman".

The Orb of Azarath sat in its silver cradle at his feet, glittering hollowly in the flickering light of the dozen or so candles in gothic candelabras set around the wide, empty room. Next to it was the prophecy and it's translation, and then the newspaper cutting; he had left the Joker's file in Arkham Asylum where it belonged.

_And probably where I belong_, he thought with grim amusement.

He shouldn't have been sitting here moping; he was the bad guy in this picture, for Pete's sake… He was supposed to be cruel and heartless and inhuman. The first two he could answer to, but the latter… he was far too human to be inhuman. He couldn't block out sadness or anger or hatred or even love completely. He was physically – and mentally – incapable of doing so. And maybe he _had_ loved, once, a very long time ago…

"Well, aren't _you_ a sorry case."

A statement, not a question.

Slade looked up, his single grey eye behind his mask icy. The old woman – the seer – was standing about 20 feet from his chair, almost completely cast in shadow, as she had been the first time they had met. He glared at her.

"What do you want?"

"It's not so much a question of what I want as what _you need_."

Slade studied her, finding it difficult to see her completely clearly.

"Fine," he drawled finally. "What do I need?"

"My help, it would appear," the seer replied softly. Slade snorted.

"You do yourself too much justice," he informed her airily. "_Far_ too much."

To his surprise the old woman burst into raucous peals of laughter. He simply stared at her, slightly in awe of how she would dare to laugh at him – _him_ - right in his face.

"_Look_ at you," she spluttered, not without malice, between laughing. "Sitting there like a king on your throne ruling a non-existent kingdom! That's right, my boy; _non-existent!_ Just _staring_ at that orb isn't going to fulfil the prophecy. And with phase one safely underway, you should be-"

"Oh, yes, phase one! How could I forget?" Slade interrupted her furiously, getting to his feet and pointing accusingly at her. "The part about the boy being a virgin, right? Only he _wasn't_, and you knew he wasn't! _You knew_, and you didn't tell me! You just-"

"So that's what this is all about?" The seer interjected calmly. "Your poor little "apprentice"?"

Slade blinked.

"How do you know about that?" He asked, genuinely surprised. He couldn't for the life of him understand how she could have known about his desires to use Robin as part of his plan rather than eliminate him; he hadn't voiced them.

"I know all, Mr Slade," the seer replied coolly.

"Well, if you "know all", why didn't you tell me?" Slade challenged her hotly. "You must have known that there was no reason for me to… to…"

The seer smiled and shook her head.

"Can't even bring yourself to say it," she sneered. "You're pathetic."

"And _you're_ changing the subject!" Slade snapped, still pointing at her. "_Why didn't you tell me?_"

"Don't point at me, boy; it's very rude," the seer reprimanded him icily. "Now sit back down."

Slade glared at her; how _dare_ she speak to _him_ in this way, treating him like he was a little boy of six being scolded by his grandmother for playing in the mud.

"_Sit_," the seer ordered again when he didn't obey the first time.

And he did. He didn't know why, or how, but one minute he was standing facing her, his fists clenched; the next he was sitting down.

"Mr Slade, you must have faith in me," the old woman said ominously, pressing her withered hands together and looking him over the tips of her fingers. "And you must have faith in the prophecy. I am only a messenger, but I have had visions, revelations… The power that you crave will come to you, but to obtain it you must fulfil every detail of the prophecy."

"That's what you told me the first time," Slade reminded her coldly. "And that's what I _did_."

The seer shook her head.

"No. You did not do all that was required. You did not _kill_ him. Still he lives, still he breathes, and as long as he does so, Mr Slade, the power that you desire and deserve will stay locked away."

"His friends came bursting in," Slade objected. "I couldn't hold my own against them all, not when I had the orb to protect."

"And you forgot that at the moment of his death his friends will be rendered powerless, I presume?"

"Of course I didn't, but I couldn't get near him, not after that wretched alien girl blasted half the wall down."

The seer tutted.

"Then you shouldn't have toyed with him before, should you? You should have broken his neck after you had torn his virginity from him."

Slade was silent, having no answer; she was right, of course. He _had_ toyed with Robin, and he had enjoyed torturing the boy. But she wasn't right about everything…

"He wasn't a virgin," he said softly, looking at the floor again, looking at the glittering orb.

"Hmm?" The old woman folded her arms. "If you're going to mutter to yourself then I won't be able to hear you, will I?"

"He wasn't a virgin," Slade said again, looking up. "He wasn't a virgin, and you _knew_ he wasn't. But you lied to me. Why? _Why_ did you make me do it?"

"I didn't _make_ you do anything," the seer snapped. "Anything you did, you did off your own back."

_That's not true. I kissed him, and I didn't want to. And he didn't want to kiss me back._

"Why did you lie to me?" He asked again. "Why did you say he was a virgin when he wasn't? What did you gain by lying to me?"

"I lied to you for your own good."

Slade stared at her, incredulous.

"_What?_" He said eventually, his vocabulary falling flat. "For my own good? What the hell-"

"Don't you curse at me," the seer snapped. "Now you listen to me; when I tell you to do something, _you do it_. You don't hesitate, you don't question, you don't answer me back. You do as you're told, my boy, or you won't get what you want. Do I make myself clear?"

"And what if I don't do as you tell me?" Slade queried icily. "What if I decide I don't need or want your help?"

"Then you fail," the seer said simply. "I know you're the big bad villain here but you won't get anywhere without my help and guidance, contrary to whatever you believe."

"I've gotten this far on my own. What makes you think I need your help now?"

"You raped a 16 year old boy against whom you have a grudge."

Slade flinched at how bluntly she put it.

"I did it because you _told_ me to! You said he was a virgin and I trusted you."

The seer snorted with laughter.

"And now you trust _him?_ How do you know _he_ isn't the one who lied to you?"

"What would he have gained by lying to me _after_ I had done it?" Slade snapped. The old woman shrugged.

"To make you feel guilty, maybe. And let's face it; if that _was_ his plan, it's working, wouldn't you agree?"

Slade was rendered speechless again for the second time in the same five minutes.

"But he thought… he _knew_… that I was going to kill him…" he said weakly.

"Ah, but you _didn't_, did you?" The seer taunted. "What's the matter, my little rapist? Feeling the love?"

"Don't call me that," Slade said dangerously. The old woman raised her eyebrows but said nothing else.

It was true; he _did_ feel guilty, sort of. He wouldn't have felt bad for _killing_ the boy, but for violating him the way he had… he couldn't shake off the bad feeling even now.

"If you want that promised power, I think you had better wise up," the seer said softly. Slade looked at her, his single grey eye commanding her to continue.

"This isn't another of your little run-of-the-mill schemes," she went on, clearly enjoying tormenting him. "This isn't infecting the Avenger's little friends with microscopic probes in a bid to get him to join you; this isn't a cleverly executed jailbreak or the corruption of a perfectly good and pure soul. This isn't even taking over this wretched little city and crushing it in the palm of your hand. This is a universal power, all for you, at your command to make and break whatever you desire. You could rule worlds, galaxies, whole _dimensions_ with an iron fist and there would be no-one to stop, as long as the Avenger lies impure and cold in his grave. The mortal gods would bow to you, your subjects would worship you, you could destroy whoever dared to oppose you with a flick of your wrist. Is that what you want, Mr Slade? Do you want that power?"

Slade nodded mutely, never wanting anything more in his entire tainted life.

"Then listen to me," the seer hissed. "Do as I tell you, work with me, and you shall have what you desire. I am here to help you. Do not question my motives, even when you are unable to see the logic behind and within them."

"And what's in it for you?" Slade asked, suspicious of her selfless offer.

"Nothing but the joy of seeing this pathetic world reduced to a flaming hell at your hand," the seer whispered, showing a side to her he had not yet witnessed. He was silent for a few seconds, pretending to consider it when in fact he had already made up his mind.

"Alright," he agreed finally. "If you believe you know best, then I suppose I trust you."

The seer nodded primly.

"Stick with that philosophy, my boy, and you'll be ruling the universe by tea-time." She turned away. "I must leave you for now, but I shall return very soon with suggestions as to what your next move will be."

She started to walk away into the shadows.

"Wait!" He called after her. She stopped and faced him.

"What?"

"The key," Slade said. "The Avenger must die, true, but a key is also required and I have no idea-"

"_Now_ aren't you glad you have me?" The seer smirked. "Do not the let the issue of the key bother you for now. I am sure that, when the time comes, I will receive a vision that will tell us where the key is hidden. Until that time, let us focus on the more direct problem at hand."

"The Avenger," Slade breathed. "Robin."

"The Batman's child, yes. Destroy him. You have many weapons, but the one I would choose is far closer to home, and it will hurt more than one."

And then she left.

Slade sat back, puzzling her last statement. He still didn't entirely trust her, for she still hadn't told him why she had lied to him, and even now she wouldn't give him a straight answer as to what he should do next. On the other hand, he could only hope that she would lead him to the key, a prospect of the plan that bothered him immensely. He had little to lose, he assumed, by allowing her to help him as she so desperately wanted to. He couldn't help but feel that there was a motive in her madness, however much she denied it, but it didn't bother him too much; after all, everyone was out to get something.

_As long as it isn't cheap amusement on my behalf_…

He frowned beneath his mask. He still failed to understand what she had meant concerning his weapon of choice with which to terminate Robin.

"Far closer to home, and will hurt more than one…"

He repeated it to himself a few times. Then he understood.

_Terra_.

His apprentice was closer to home in the sense that she had once been a Titan, and for this same reason it would hurt more than one; it would hurt Robin, because he would die, but it would hurt his team-mates, particularly the shape-shifter, in a way worse than if Slade himself annihilated the Boy Wonder, to think that one that they had once classed as a friend would turn on them in such a way and kill their leader.

And, conveniently enough, Terra had arrived back from her training regime in the woodlands while he had been away at Arkham Asylum. He had not yet spoken to her, as he had not wished to interact with anyone when he had got back just under an hour ago, and had instead sat in his chair in the empty dark room brooding over what he had done.

But now he rose and turned on the communication device on his wrist. He heard it crackle as it sprang to life, the faint static to show it was working audible.

"Terra. Report to me immediately."

He turned it off and sank into his chair again, picking up the Orb of Azarath out of its cradle as he did so and examining it closely, watching it sparkle darkly. Hard to believe it housed such awesome power of which the seer spoke...

"What's _that_ gaudy thing?"

Slade averted his single eye from the orb and looked up and found Terra standing a few feet away from his chair. Tall and slim – little short of skinny, to be honest – with long silky blonde hair and large, forget-me-not blue eyes, the earth-mover stood, her expression sceptical and her hands on her hips as she eyed the stone ball in her mentor's gloved hand. She was dressed scantily for the hot season; a long-sleeved black top that bared her midriff, a "T" adorning it in the same fashion as Robin's "R" or even Slade's own "S", pale tan shorts that showed off most of her long legs, chunky hiker's boots, large gloves and her protective goggles still around her neck. She was still a little scratched up and dirty from her training in the forest, as she had not been back very long. She was pretty, and perhaps controversy could have been sparked by the idea of an adult such as him taking her under his wing, but supposedly perverse as it was, such idle pursuits did not fascinate him. He wanted Terra for her power, not her body.

"_This_, Terra?" Slade murmured, holding out the orb. Terra raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah, that."

"_This_." Slade leaned back in his chair again, the hand holding the orb resting under his chin as he watched his apprentice. "_This_ is the key to our reckoning. It may not look like it, but this little orb is a bearer of power beyond our wildest dreams. When the prophecy is fulfilled, we-"

"Whoa." Terra held her gloved hands up and he stopped. "You lost me. That over-sized marble contains some heebie-jeebie power, right? And what's this about some "prophecy"?"

Slade sighed. He'd already explained it all to the Joker, and partially explained it to Robin; he was getting sick of repeating himself.

"It's called the Orb of Azarath, and-"

"_Azarath?_" Terra's pale blue eyes were wide. "That's what Raven says. I've heard her say it."

"Yes, it is another dimension beyond our own from which the witch-girl originates," Slade explained. "The whole reason she is on Earth in the first place is because she was sent as a messenger to bring the orb here. I read about it in the paper when it was brought to Jump City Museum and decided to steal it, but the article told _nothing_ of it's true power."

"Then how do you know so much about it?" Terra challenged him.

"While I was actually in the museum in the act of stealing it, a seer came to me and explained everything, about the prophecy and the Avenger and-"

"And there you go again," Terra finished. "_Avenger?_ What the heck is an _Avenger?_"

Times like this he wished Robin was his apprentice; brought up by Batman, the boy was darker, more accepting, didn't speak until he was spoken to and didn't ask questions unless they were absolutely necessary. Even when he had been resentful of the blackmail, while serving his brief apprenticeship, he had done as he was told and hadn't questioned the objects Slade had commanded him to steal, nor the motives behind the thefts, perhaps out of fear for his friends' lives. But Terra… truthfully, he wouldn't have swapped Terra for Robin, because the fact that the boy was so like him made him wary and mistrusting of him, but Terra always demanded to know the ins and outs of whatever the deal was, and at times when he was in a less than civil mood, it drove him up the wall answering her questions. Maybe she was just ensuring that she wasn't getting a raw deal, but she should have trusted him, just as he was about to entrust her with possibly the most important part of his plan.

"The Avenger is the one which you must destroy, Terra," Slade told her quietly, looking at her over the top of the Orb of Azarath.

Terra blinked.

"Excuse me? _Destroy?_"

"I'm afraid so, my dear apprentice. The prophecy, in a nutshell, states that one of a Chosen Few will harness the power of the Orb of Azarath and the apocalypse will be at their command. _However_…"

"The catch," Terra murmured.

"Exactly." Slade pointed at her briefly. "The prophecy also states that one will arise among the ashes and shall halt the power and itis bearer where it stands. That _one_ is correctly titled "The Avenger" and he must be tainted and destroyed for the prophecy to be fulfilled, whereupon the superheroes will be rendered powerless. There was also something about a key, but-"

"Who said anything about a "he"?" Terra asked. "How do you know this… this _Avenger_ of yours isn't a girl? What are you trying to say; a girl couldn't kick your plan in the butt?"

_I hate feminists_…

"Oh, he's male, Terra," Slade said softly. "I can… _guarantee_ you he's male."

Terra raised an eyebrow and folded her arms.

"You seem to know an awful lot about him," she noted. Slade sighed.

"Perhaps a little too much," he agreed. "But _you_ know an awful lot about him too, I should think."

Terra cocked her head.

"What, do I like, _know_ him or something?"

"Yes."

Terra frowned, her head still on one side.

"I _know_ him, right? I'm not gonna kill anyone I like for your prophecy."

"You'll do as you're told, Terra," Slade informed her icily. "And I expect that you perhaps _did_ like him at one point. After all, he and his little friends were _so kind to you_, took you in and gave you a home and gave you something to fight for and gave you the friendship and acceptance you had always craved until you threw it back in their faces…"

Terra's large blue eyes widened and she put a hand to her mouth.

"Oh no," she whispered. "Not him… no, not _him_…"

Slade leaned forward in his chair, gripping the armrests and still holding his precious orb.

"Yes; _him_," he hissed maliciously. "Convenient, wouldn't you say? Right on the home plain…"

"Not _Robin_…" Terra squeaked. "I can't… I won't…"

"You _will_. And I thought it was the green one that you liked, anyway."

Terra nodded mutely.

"Yeah, but…"

"But _what?_" Slade stared at her very hard.

"All of them, they were so… Robin was so nice to me; they _all_ were, except maybe Raven at first… I couldn't possibly…"

Slade snorted.

"You don't really believe that they actually _liked_ you, do you?" He asked her, realising that another dose of corruption was in order. "They just pitied you, felt sorry for you because you were such a weak little outcast on the run from the whole world because of your _terrible curse_."

"Beast Boy liked me," Terra said miserably. Slade shrugged.

"Maybe, but face it, Terra; you had a hard time fitting in with both Robin and Raven because the pair of them could see right through you from the very beginning."

"Starfire and Cyborg-"

"Are stupid," Slade finished heartlessly. "The robot is friendly to everyone and never suspicious, and the alien is so desperate for friends on this planet that she will befriend anything that moves."

"But Robin was so nice to me," Terra wailed. "He timed me on the obstacle course a few times and he always asked me if I was ok and he sometimes checked in on me after everyone was in bed to see if-"

"You were up to anything," Slade sighed, now telling the complete truth. "Terra, he's a detective. He suspected you were up to no good and took it upon himself to monitor you. Timing you on the obstacle course to see if you had acquired any extra powers that couldn't have been gained by yourself, checking up on you after you thought everyone else was asleep in case you were in contact with someone such as me."

Terra stared at him. It had never even occurred to her than Robin had been keeping a close watch on her, even spying on her. She had just thought he was being friendly.

"But he didn't act as if-" She started to protest.

"_Acting_." Slade snorted. "That boy should receive an Oscar. Terra, he was trained by Batman. You never should have trusted him, the way he didn't trust you."

Terra frowned.

"Batman? Isn't he that weirdo who stalks Gotham City at night?"

Slade nodded.

"Robin's ex-partner."

Terra's frown deepened. Come to think of it… Batman and Robin, the "Dynamic Duo"?... Sounded very… _familiar_. She'd been to Gotham City plenty of times, and had heard snippets of conversations about those two… _Why_ had it never occurred to her that the Teen Titans' Robin and the Robin that made up the other half of "Batman and…" were one and the same? And she had been staring him straight in the face the entire time…

"And… and Raven?" Terra asked shakily, looking up at her mentor.

"Goes without saying that she hated your guts from the moment she set eyes on you," Slade said flippantly. Terra looked at the dark floor and said nothing.

"Terra, what do you owe them?" Slade whispered. "You belong to me now, and you owe me _everything_. I gave you the control that you desired over your incredible powers. They gave you an uneasy friendship, if you can even call it that on account of Robin and Raven's behaviour towards you, treating you as a threat, someone not even worth knowing…" He sighed and leaned further back, glancing idly at the orb clutched in his fingers. "Besides, Terra, you have already betrayed them to me, told me their secrets and their weaknesses. Changing your mind at the last minute may have spared the shape-shifter's life for now and wrecked the original plan in which they were all destroyed, but you still tarnished their trust and left a path of destruction in your wake. Even if you broke your promise to me now and went to them, there is no way they would ever accept you back. You are their enemy now, Terra; and _they_ are ours. When you pledged your allegiance to me you broke the one you had established with them, and the Titans are a sure-fire for loyalty. To be honest, I am surprised they took Robin back so quickly and easily, but to each his own, I suppose."

"So… so what are you saying?" Terra questioned, feeling tears in her large eyes.

"What I'm _saying_, Terra, is that they would see you burn in hell before they would let you back into their little "T"," Slade said bluntly. "So what do you have to lose by killing just one of them?"

"Because it's _wrong!_" Terra cried. "I know you… you have _issues_ with Robin, but I'm not going to murder him! _He_ wouldn't kill _me_."

"Wouldn't he?" Slade smirked beneath his mask. "If it was a choice between you and the alien girl, you know who he would choose."

"Yes, but he wouldn't _kill_ me," Terra argued. "And _I'm_ not going to kill _him_."

"Compassionate as ever, I see," Slade mocked her. "Terra, they aren't your friends anymore. _I_ am all you have."

"No," Terra whispered, tears streaming down her face now. "I don't want to become a murderer, Slade!"

"I'm afraid what _you want_ is no longer an issue, Terra," Slade hissed dangerously. "You've thrown away every chance of being good, of being a Titan. They see you as a threat, Terra, and they'll take you down the same way they take down every other cheap crook who tries it on in this city. You have nothing left; nothing except _me_, for _I_ am the only one who will accept you the way you are."

"But Beast Boy… he-" Terra started, her voice cracking.

"I'm not _asking_ you to kill the wretched shape-shifter!" Slade snapped. "I'm _telling_ you to kill _Robin_, and you _will_ do it, Terra, even if it means tearing your conscience from your being."

"Please, Slade, I can't!" Terra sobbed. "I can beat him to a pulp, but _killing_ him is completely different. I can't do it… I _won't_ do it!"

"_Oh_,_ won't you?_"

Slade got to his feet, furious, the Orb of Azarath gripped tightly in one gloved hand.

"Perhaps I need to remind you of what I have given to you, of what you owe to me and what you promised to me. Do you need _reminding_, Terra?"

He walked purposefully over to her and she flinched as he towered threateningly over her slight form. He grabbed hold of her skinny wrist and she gasped as he pulled her right off her feet.

"Well, _do you?_" He asked dangerously. Terra shook her head mutely, terrified.

"I thought as much." He threw her easily to the floor, where she landed in a crumpled heap. "I own you now, Terra; don't forget that. And when I tell you to do something, _you do it_."

He didn't realise it, but he was starting to sound like the seer. He watched his apprentice as she struggled to her knees, wiping the tears from her pretty face.

"You know I won't stand weakness, Terra," Slade whispered lethally. "And I _especially_ won't stand it from _you_ because you are _anything_ but weak."

Terra sniffled and got to her feet, still wiping her eyes.

"Now. That wasn't too hard, was it?" Slade murmured, gently pushing Terra's hand aside and wiping her tears away with his own glove. Terra smiled weakly and pushed one of her blonde bangs out of her face.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked softly. Slade placed his hand on her blonde head.

"That's my girl."

He abruptly removed his hand and turned away from her.

"At this present moment this world rests in a state of equilibrium, a balance between good and evil," he said, maybe a little more dramatically than was usually typical of him. "The Titans are the control, and we are the chaos. Unfortunately, the _control freaks_ have us well in hand at the moment, while they strut around this pathetic little city like they own it, living it up like the unworthy monarchs they are in their little "T"…"

Terra sensed the bitterness in his voice becoming more and more prominent until he was pretty much spitting the words out. She could never despise the Titans the way he did; never despise _Robin_ the way he did…

"What we need to do, Terra, is to free society from it's monotonous equal state," Slade went on, still with his back to the earth-mover. "It's all just a pattern; criminal strikes, Titans arrive with a can of "butt-whoop" and a righteous moral for the day, crook gets carted off to jail, all's well that ends well until someone else threatens their city."

He sighed and shook his head, then turned to Terra.

"Boring, wouldn't you say?"

Terra shrugged.

"I guess so."

"Boring for the criminals, boring for the city, boring for the Titans and boring for _me_," Slade went on, barely acknowledging her contribution.

"Boring for _you?_" Terra repeated. "Why? They've never caught you…"

"No, but… the Titans are usually so busy chasing every other half-wit thief in this city, when I finally turn up it doesn't faze them all that much. In fact, the only one who actually takes a whole lot of notice of me is Robin, and let's face it; the kid's obsessed with catching me. It's one extreme or the other with that lot…"

"So what's the matter?" Terra asked, folding her arms. "Don't you feel _appreciated?_"

Slade clenched his fists, near crushing the Orb of Azarath in his leather glove. His single grey eye narrowed venomously behind his mask.

"No, Terra," he whispered dangerously. "I want them to recognise me as the greatest threat that they will ever know. I will _not rest_ until this city is at my feet, until the Titans are on their knees begging for me to stop, until Robin is _dead_ and the prophecy is fulfilled. This city and every one after it, Gotham and Metropolis and Blüdhaven… they will all be in the palm of my hand, Terra, for me to _crush_ if I see fit. And following the death of the wretched Avenger, the mortal gods will fall and there will be no-one left to oppose me or stop me, no Teen Titans, no Justice League…"

"And that…" Terra looked at the floor, her blonde hair falling forward over her face. "That's where _I_ come in…"

"_Precisely_."

Slade put his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up again, looking her straight in her pale blue eyes.

"Do not feel bad for him, my dear apprentice. It was written centuries ago that he would die this way, and for this very purpose. By sparing him we would be re-writing forbidden history. And you owe him _nothing_…"

"I know." Terra averted her eyes briefly. Slade had given her so much, he had liked her despite her problem… she didn't want to let him down.

But she didn't want to kill either.

"You may kill him however you see fit," Slade went on. "I'm sure it shouldn't be too hard, not with your admirable abilities. He's fast and well-trained; he may get a few blows in, I daresay, but his death at your hand will be inevitable. I don't know if you'd prefer to crush him or suffocate him or simply beat him to death…"

"I don't understand why _you_ can't kill him," Terra said softly.

"I tried, Terra, and I almost succeeded," Slade replied icily. "But he escaped me yet again. The seer said that you would be the best choice of weapon with which to exterminate him. It may mean that within the sands of time it has been stated that he will die by your hand and not mine; this is not the first time he had eluded me. I'm sick of chasing after him, frankly, and when _you_ turn up and destroy him instead…" Slade smirked beneath his mask. "…He won't know what's hit him…"

"A rock," Terra murmured. Slade snorted in what could have been disguised laughter at her feeble joke, but it was more likely disgust.

"When… when do you want me to…?" Terra trailed off and looked at the floor again.

"Oh, not for a few days yet," Slade replied airily. "He won't put up much of a fight at present; I kicked him around a lot. Give him a little time to recuperate or it won't be much of a sport for you."

"I… I don't really want to toy with him…" Terra whispered miserably. "I'd rather just… just kill him…"

Slade looked at her for a few seconds.

"I've got a lot to teach you, apprentice," he said eventually. Terra shrugged her slight shoulders.

"At any rate, I need time to plan," Slade continued, his tone changing to a less bland one. "We can't just go rushing in, not concerning something on this level…" He walked away and replaced the Orb of Azarath back into it's protective silver cradle.

Terra simply nodded as he did so, still studying the floor intently.

"Don't see this as a bad thing, my dear," Slade told her softly. "This may be the making of you."

_Or breaking_.

They both thought it simultaneously, but neither of them voiced it aloud.

"Now, shall we run over the pact?"

Terra looked up and blinked.

"Excuse me?"

Slade came back to her, moved behind her and placed his large hands on her shoulders, as he had with Robin back in Arkham Asylum.

"The pact we made, back when I first started to train you to control your powers. When you swore your allegiance to me. Remember?"

Terra nodded.

"I remember."

"Good." Slade squeezed her shoulders slightly. "We'll go from the top. Who are you?"

"I am Terra."

"_What_ are you?"

"I am an earth-mover. I am a geo-morph elemental, neither monster nor completely human. I am your apprentice."

"_Excellent_. What have you promised to me?"

"I have promised to you my allegiance and my power, my full commitment, my loyalty, my mind, my body and my soul."

"And in return?"

"In return you have promised to me the control I desire to exercise over my power."

"What will you do?"

"I will fulfil whatever you, my master, ask of me."

Slade paused, pleased with her.

"And so, Terra, in light of recent events, what are your duties to me?" He asked slowly.

Terra was silent for a while.

"To aid you in your fulfilment of the prophecy," she said finally, glancing up at him. Slade nodded slightly. He smiled dangerously behind his mask.

"And the Avenger, Terra? What will you do to him?"

A few strands of blonde hair fell across the earth-mover's pretty face and her smile mirrored that of her mentor.

"_I will kill him_…"

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

You know, you can all help me. What I'd really like is for this thing to hit triple digits in reviews to finish up; we're on 91. I need 9 more! I'd review myself to clock the number up, but that would be stupid… So c'mon people; REVIEW just one last time!

And as an incentive and special treat and blahblahblah…

Yup, there is actually one more "chapter" after this. _Black Magic Preview_… hmm, I wonder what _that_ could be…


	16. Black Magic Preview

Ladies and gentlemen, lads and luvvies, dudes and dudettes…

You're looking at the special preview chapter of _Promises and Prophecies Part II: Black Magic_. Hopefully if you've read up to this chapter, you'll want to know what happens next, so just to whet your appetites…

An excerpt from _Black Magic_ Ch.2, the rather aptly-titled _Apprentice vs. Apprentice_;

"…_Terra ripped a lump of rock out of the ground and floated over to him on it, then arranged more like steps as she descended and stood in front of him, her hands on her hips._

"_Slade was right," she patronised him, looking down at him. "You are pathetic."_

_Fast as lighting the Boy Wonder was on his feet, and before Terra even realised what had happened he had dealt her a powerful uppercut. He followed through with a dragonfly kick that threw Terra against the far wall. He landed lightly and slid into a battle stance._

_Terra struggled to her feet and wiped her mouth, which was bleeding freely._

"_Prick," she muttered darkly as she advanced on him again; he couldn't help but be amused by the insult. After all, she was the one who was trying to kill him. He was merely defending himself._

_She made the mistake of getting too close and he caught her with a roundhouse, sending her to the floor. Instead of getting up again she merely propped herself up on her elbows and her eyes glowed yellow._

_Something – a rock, more than likely – smacked into the backs of his knees, sending him off-balance. Terra realised her second mistake as he landed heavily on top of her. They wrestled on the ground in the dirt, Terra having the upper hand by shooting rock chips at his face to try and blind him. She pitched him onto his back and straddled his stomach, sitting on him contently with her knees on either side of his chest. He struggled underneath her but couldn't get her off. She smiled sweetly at him and moulded herself a pointed taper of rock, sharp like a stake. She held it in her right hand and raised it over his heart; she was going to stick it to him like he was a vampire or something._

_He brought his knees up behind her and smashed her in the back, throwing her off his body head-first. Her "stake" got lost in the process and he rolled over and got to his knees as she did the same. Their eyes met and for a few seconds it was almost as though they were play-fighting._

_But they weren't, and they both knew it._

_They both stood, and Terra rose higher still on another platform of rock, raised her hand and more rocks flew like ravenous birds at him. He parried them off with his staff, but then the metal weapon snapped as a bigger rock came at him. It hit him in the stomach and sent him staggering backwards against the first boulder that had taken out Starfire. He crumpled and discarded the staff, desperately went to his belt, pulled out a pair of birdarangs and sent them arcing at her. She shrieked and shielded her face with her arm, and they ripped the black fabric of her long-sleeved top, baring bloody skin beneath. They clattered to the floor and Terra looked down at them in disgust; her head jerked up again as she heard Robin utter a high-pitched battle cry and too late she found him in front of her, swinging his elbow at her face. She ducked and instead he caught her by the front of her top, grasped her by the waist and threw her across the rocky chamber. The earth-mover tumbled to a halt and scrabbled to her feet, rubbing the back of her neck under the sheet of corn-coloured hair. She straightened up just as Robin threw himself into her, slamming her against the wall. Her face pressed against the sharp wall of the chamber as he twisted her arm behind her back, his mouth centimetres from her ear._

"_Tell Slade to cram it," Robin whispered lethally, feeling strands of her long blonde hair tickling his face. He felt Terra struggle against him and pressed harder against her twisted arm. She shrieked and swore at him, calling him things much worse than "prick"._

"_Taught you how to curse too, has he?" Robin asked, grimly amused._

"_I'll kill you," Terra spat._

_A sour smile played across Robin's pale, handsome face._

"_Not if I can help it, Terra.""_

Yeah, Robin and Terra have a bit of a scrap – not to mention a bitchy name-calling session. This storyline does get a bit heavy, I have to admit. It's not really light reading. So many other fics on here are just about relationships between different characters, but have no real… _storyline_. I mean, that's all well and good – I have written a few of those myself. _Underneath Your Clothes _and _Small Print_ are prime examples of my fics that are just basically about sexual chemistry. But _this_… I've worked on this storyline for coming up two years in March 2006. I should therefore _hope_ it's got a pretty intricate narrative… There's a lot of relationship stuff, but it's all relevant to the storyline (one in particular is VERY important…).

Sooo… coming up we've got Terra in place doing Slade's bidding (_really_ bad for our boy Robin) and being pretty bitchy about it. Some more teasers;

- The Titans go to Azarath (which means some OCs. Sorry! I don't really like OCs that much, but they are relevant. I hate it when people make up their own Titans and stuff; you know, "The Titans meet a girl with strange powers, but is she to be trusted?…". I _never_ read fics like that on here. But these are Azarathian people (The Senate, to be precise) and they aren't really in it that much, but I needed them and because there aren't any ever shown in the show, I was forced to make them up. Can't have a whole dimension with no people in it! Plus Arella is in there. I tried REALLY hard not to turn them into Mary Sues, so I hope you like them!)

- SPOILER! No, not the Spoiler from the DC comics… I mean literally a spoiler. There's quite a bit of Robin/Raven in Part II (hope you all like that couple ok). It's really, REALLY important to the storyline; that much I promise. It's not just Robin going; "Oh, _boo hoo_, I got raped by my arch-nemesis. Guess I'll just leech some "comfort" from my dear friend Raven…". Nope, not at all…

- Um, just all out Raven-ness, I guess. She wasn't in _Asylum_ much, true, but because it's an Azarathian prophecy you can bet she's pretty involved. The storyline is still pretty focused around the Boy-Avenging-Wonder, but Raven gets more involved too. Yay for Raven! Plus the others are, um, in it a lot more too.

- Still stuck with the seer, I'm afraid. Slade's not in the next bit so much, but he does something _very bad_ to Robin… Something which affects the entire story-arc… for the _worst_, obviously.

- Slight bit of BB/Terra, but not much, seeing as she's on Slade's side. This fic is still set in Season 2, between _Betrayal_ and _Aftershock_ (but after _Fractured_). Starfire and Cyborg provide some comic relief, of course; Batman isn't in this next bit. He turns up again in Part III, _Remember the Titans_, I promise!

- And, uh… yeah, you can bet Robin has a hard time of it all over again. I do so love to torture him and make his (fictional) life a misery. Let's just say that he comes to understand Raven's _demonic_ side a whole lot more…

Feel free to make any speculations/guesses in a review! I would be very interested to hear them! Never know, anything you predict might give me another idea to add in…

Hope to "see" y'all there! I dunno, put me on Author Alert or something so you'll get an email notification when I put the new part up. You can always take me off again once it's up. Does it work like that?

Well, never mind! Thankyou all SO MUCH for reading it! Knowing it brings a smile to your face (even if it's a cynical one as you think "Jeez, this is bollocks…") is what makes it all worthwhile!

Gotta fly now. You've been a wonderful audience; and if you're driving, don't forget your car!

Thankyou and goodnight!

- RobinRocks, the Boy-love Wonder x


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